Small Things, Great Love
by JamesLuver
Summary: John Bates knows that he's not destined for great things, not after the life that he's had. But perhaps he can show the measure of himself in other ways.
1. 1912 - 1916

**A/N:** My contribution to the Banna Valentine's Extravaganza on Tumblr. Just fluff here because that's what I like. (For now, anyway.)

The quote I was given was supposedly said by Mother Teresa, but while I was doing some research, I read that it's wrongly given to her. So who knows. Although I drifted a little from what I'd initially had in mind, I hope it's enjoyable all the same.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Downton Abbey.

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><p><em>Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.<em>

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><p><span><em>Small Things, Great Love<em>

_1912_

The gas lamp flickered on the wall as John sat at the servants' hall table, staring down at his open book without seeing. A cup of tea, regretfully cold now, sat by his left elbow. It was well past midnight and he was alone, the others having retired half an hour earlier, eager to fall into their beds. John was cursed with insomnia on this evening. He knew it would be a while before he slept. Perhaps a cup of warm milk would help instead. It wouldn't hurt to try it.

Just as he was about to push his chair back from the table, however, he heard a small scuffling noise coming from the staircase. Sitting up straighter and furrowing his brows, he strained his ears, wondering if he'd been hearing things. But his hearing hadn't failed him, and seconds later Anna tumbled into the servants' hall, stifling a yawn with one hand and juggling her sewing box and one of Lady Sybil's dresses with the other. She stopped short when she saw him, obviously embarrassed that she'd been caught yawning so wide.

"I didn't know anyone else was still awake," she said.

"Neither did I," he returned with a soft smile. "What are you doing still up?"

"There's a rip in this," she said, holding up her arm with the dress.

"And it can't wait until tomorrow?"

"I wish it could. That's when Lady Sybil wants it. It's my own fault, I kept putting it off and then I forgot about it. I would have done it upstairs, but Gwen is asleep and I don't want to disturb her with the light."

"That's very thoughtful of you."

She shrugged. "Not really. Just common courtesy. It's my fault, not Gwen's."

"I'm not sure Miss O'Brien would share your sentiments, even if she was at fault."

Anna giggled at that, rounding the table and dragging out the chair by his side. Where she always sat, even when etiquette didn't dictate it. She had been his only friend in the months that he had been at Downton, the only one who had been truly sad to hear that he was leaving, the only one who had showed great delight when she'd heard that he was staying. He was grateful for her friendship, for the way that her eyes sparked with mischief and the way that she seemed to gravitate towards him just as much he did to her. A true friend. He'd been afraid that he wouldn't even find an ally, never mind someone he could trust like he trusted her, even after just a few months.

"What are you doing down here, anyway?" she asked as she set her things down on the table, scraping closer.

"Couldn't sleep," he replied. "I was just thinking of getting a glass of warm milk before you entered. Do you want one?"

"Better not," she said. "I'd be asleep before I finished it, and that's no help to anyone."

John frowned, watching her face carefully. "Are you _sure_ that can't wait? You do look worn out."

"Why, thank you," she teased, failing to hide another yawn. "What a nice way to flatter a woman."

His cheeks heated at her implication. "I just meant that you shouldn't expect too much of yourself. You run yourself ragged at the best of times."

"It's my job, Mr. Bates."

"But even so. You do the work of a housemaid _and_ three lady's maids. It's hardly fair."

"I don't mind. Now, you go and get that hot milk, and get yourself off to bed."

"I'll stay and keep you company."

Her eyes glowed at that, but she shook her head. "There's no point in us both being sleep deprived."

"I don't mind. Besides, you might need me to keep you awake. It wouldn't do to have Mrs. Hughes finding you here at breakfast."

"She'd think that I'd taken leave of my senses," she giggled, and he knew that she was softening. "All right. You fetch the milk, I'll get my needle threaded."

He left her there with a warm smile, clacking across the flagstones to the kitchen. He took his time warming the milk, deciding to do one for Anna just in case she was thirsty, before hooking his cane over his arm and returning to the servants' hall, somehow managing to balance a couple of biscuits on each of the saucers he'd placed the cups on.

He stopped short in the entrance.

Contrary to what she'd said before he'd left her, Anna hadn't made any progress with her mending. It was still splayed out on the table in front of her, needle and thread resting on top. Anna was sitting with her head dropped onto her chest. He couldn't see her face properly with her angle, but he knew that she was sound asleep. She was snoring just slightly, the sound rasping in the quiet. The thought that it was completely endearing struck him from nowhere, and he shook it off hastily, moving further into the room.

She didn't stir at the sound of his footfalls, and never moved when he put down the two cups. For a moment he stood over her, wondering what to do. Should he wake her? If she needed to get the mending done before the morning, then it would be unwise to let her sleep for any longer. But she looked so peaceful. He sank into his chair beside her, gaze flickering over her, tracing the curve of her jaw and the curve of her cheek and the curve of her nose. The realisation that she was utterly beautiful hit him unaware, and he shrank back a little from it. But it was true. While the ladies upstairs swathed themselves in finery, Anna had a simple beauty that was unmatched. She needed nothing else to showcase it.

He shook his head. He was tired. It was making him think mad things.

He considered waking her for a moment longer before he came to his decision. Cautiously reaching out for her mending, he pulled it towards him, bringing it closer to his face so that he could inspect the damage. It didn't seem to be too bad. He'd seen worse.

Glancing once more at Anna to ensure that she was still sound asleep, he gingerly picked up the needle and thread. He had mended enough of his lordship's clothes to know what he was doing. His hand wouldn't be as neat as Anna's, but he suspected that it would still be passable, and if it meant that she could rest for a little longer then he was more than happy to help. She had helped him enough in the past. He remembered a time in the passage, when she had told him that anyone could have their hands full. No pity, no judgement. Just doing a good deed. He would repay her now.

Milk forgotten, he started his delicate stitches, furrowing his brow in concentration, making sure that everything was painstakingly aligned before he began. The sound of the needle darting in and out of the silk was the only other sound apart from Anna's soft snores, and he fell into the rhythm of the work. It was soothing, somehow. And it made him feel good to know that he was helping Anna. She was so kind, she deserved all the help he could give her.

And then he started, jumping so much that he almost ripped the dress again and narrowly missed piercing himself with the sharp needle. His heart had started a drumroll in his chest, slamming against his ribcage like a desperate prisoner.

Anna's body had slumped to the side. Her head rested limply against his arm, and she made little snuffling noises as she adjusted herself. Miraculously, she hadn't woken. He allowed himself a smile at that, though he had no doubt that it was a nervous one. Evidently she was a very heavy sleeper. It suited her somehow. Her face was smooth, open, innocent. There was a lump in his throat. He swallowed it. His hands were trembling, though he wasn't sure why. He wondered if he'd be able to steady it enough to make another neat stich.

Heat radiated from the spot where her head rested, boiling his blood. He had never felt more on fire than he did at that moment. It was a disconcerting feeling. But he continued to work studiously, making neat stich after neat stich, barely daring to move his arm as Anna slumbered, finishing off her mending.

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><p><em>1913<em>

John was working on a pair of Lord Grantham's riding boots when the door creaked open. He glanced up at once to find Anna slipping into the room, wringing her hands in front of her. He set down his work at once, furrowing his brow.

"Anna," he said. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, biting her lip. And then she closed the door behind her.

That caught his attention at once, and he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. They were getting dangerous, these snatched moments alone with her. More and more, he was frightened that he would forget himself, that he would do something stupid and irreparable. Many a time the thought of kissing her had crept up on him, usually in the darkness when he had no control over his thoughts. He would think of running his hands through her hair, gauging the texture, the pliability of her lips, the silk of her tongue.

He shook himself away from those thoughts now, trying to focus on her. He had seen unsettling flickers in her over the last few months too, and if he was vain enough to contemplate it he might think that she was attracted to him too. He had fallen frighteningly fast a long time ago, but he had fought and fought with himself. Yet now he couldn't deny himself any longer. She was everything, the one thing that had changed him above everything else.

He could never tell her how he felt. He was far too old for her, and he didn't want to be responsible for the light leaving her eyes if she ever found out the truth of his past. She wouldn't want anything to do with him after that. Even so, it was getting harder by the day to be alone with her.

What was she doing here now?

"I just wanted a quick word," she said.

"What is it, then?" he asked.

She loitered by the door for a moment longer, before moving decisively closer. "I just wanted to thank you."

"Thank me?"

"Yes. For what you did for me the other day."

John felt the heat flooding his cheeks, and he dropped his eyes to the work table. "It was nothing."

"Yes it was. No one else would have done it for me."

"That's not true."

"Really?" She tilted her head to the side, a challenge of sorts. "Then why did nobody else bother? Everyone else went out to the fair. Miss O'Brien just sat downstairs. _You _were the one who cared."

He shook his head. "It's what any friend would have done."

"So you say," she said. The silence between them stretched on.

John shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat. "I didn't want you to feel unwanted. You have been a great friend to me over the last year. I wanted to return your kindness."

Was he imagining it, or was there a flicker of disappointment in her eyes? Resolutely, he ignored it, pretending to peruse the cleaning materials he had laid out in front of him. He was soon forced to look up, however, when he heard her light footsteps crossing the floor. She came to a stop in front of him.

"It was still very nice of you," she said. Unbidden, her hand stretched out, slowly, as if she was approaching a snapping dog. He watched, entranced. Her hands were dainty, small. There were little burns from the iron, dry skin over her knuckles. But they were still immaculate, her nails well manicured. A princess' hands on a housemaid.

And then her hand touched his, and he fought down his flinch. Christ, her grip was getting firmer and he didn't know what to _do_ –

She made the decision for him, turning over his hand so that it was palm up, slipping her fingers through his. He did shudder now, eyes fluttering as he felt her skin for the very first time. Her hands were a maddening mix of soft palms and calloused fingertips, and he couldn't stop himself from closing his hand around hers. Hers was swallowed in his, and he marvelled almost drunkenly at the sheer differences in size, at how they seemed to meld together as if they'd been forged for that very job. Distantly, he heard Anna's breath catch, and the sound made him dizzy. She squeezed his hand, and he found himself unable to resist the temptation of returning the gesture, their hands held tight –

The door to the boot room sprang open.

"Mr. Bates, his lordship is ringing for you…"

John dropped Anna's hand as if she'd scalded him, and was very glad that the work bench was high enough to cover what he had been doing only a moment before. William stood before them, wearing a blissfully ignorant expression.

"Thank you," John said, and was glad his voice wasn't shaking. "I'll be with him in just a moment."

William nodded before retracting, seeming to find nothing odd at all about Anna being in the room with him. John breathed a sigh of relief. That was good. At least there would be no talk, no whispers.

He could tell that Anna was dazed from her face expression. Her blue eyes were cloudy, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

"I'd better go," she said. "I don't want Miss O'Brien to think that I'm slacking off again."

"Mrs. Hughes would defend you."

She shook her head. "That would only make her worse. I've got some of Lady Edith's laundry to pick up. But thank you for what you did. I really do mean that."

"I've told you, it was my pleasure. I'm just glad you enjoyed it."

"Very much," she whispered. "It was the loveliest tray in the world."

He couldn't find another response to that, and she left him then, staring after her retreating back.

Perhaps it was wrong to encourage her – encourage _himself _– when it came to their relationship, but it was nice to know that he could put a smile like that one on her face just by giving her a single kindness.

* * *

><p><em>1914<em>

The garden party had left his bones aching, even though he'd barely had to do anything. But the news that war had broken out had left him feeling tired and brooding. Talk of war never failed to remind of him of the time he'd served in Africa, with the sweat pouring from his body and the cloying, sickly-sweet odour of rotting flesh. His life had changed forever in Africa. For the worse.

He glanced up with exhausted eyes when he heard her footsteps approaching, the place as silent as death. Her hair had fallen loose from her bun with the rigour of the day. Her cheeks were flushed red.

No. Not entirely for the worse.

She dropped into her seat beside him, letting out a weary sigh. Mrs. Hughes looked to her at once, all motherly concern.

"Anna?" she said. "Are you all right?"

"Fine, Mrs. Hughes," she reassured her. "It's just been a long day."

"That it has," the housekeeper agreed. "But now the family has retired to bed, it won't be long before we can start dinner. You must be starving."

Anna shrugged. "Not really." She offered the housekeeper one more smile, before twisting in her seat to face him. He dropped his eyes quickly, hoping that she hadn't noticed how hopelessly he'd been drinking in every line of her face.

"What about you, Mr. Bates?" she asked softly. "Are you all right?"

He nodded quickly, casting a look around the rest of the table. Only Thomas was paying any attention to them, his expression filled with his usual contempt. He wouldn't say too much now. Not with the footman listening in so closely.

He managed a smile, even though it felt forced. "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you, Anna."

She looked like she wanted to say more, but the table was too quiet, and he knew that she wouldn't risk it. Instead, she reached for her glass of water and began to drink.

Ten more minutes passed before Mr. Carson entered the room. His shoulders were slumped, his back stumped. He looked ten years older all of a sudden. John averted his eyes.

"Daisy," he said to the young girl, who was hovering at the back of the room, "tell Mrs. Patmore that we're ready to eat now."

"Yes, Mr. Carson," she squeaked, before darting out of the room. The silence stretched on and on, with no one daring to break it. John kept his eyes firmly on the table top.

Dinner was served with no more talk. Evidently the news of war was weighing everyone down. Many people hadn't experienced it before, being too young, but John knew that Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes remembered the African war, the needless deaths for an honour that had never existed. They might not have had first-hand experience like him, but at least they understood a little. Soon the young lads would be caught up with excitement, and he would be forced to endure listening to how proud they were signing up for the cause, unaware of the horrors that they would soon be facing. There was no such thing as honour in war.

The metallic sound of the cutlery hitting the plates gave him reason to pause. It was like bullets clanging through the air. A sound he'd hoped never to hear again. He didn't think he could stomach it for much longer. Not tonight.

Pushing his chair away from the table, he rose to his feet. Every pair of eyes was on him at once, and he swallowed hard.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I just need some air."

Mrs. Hughes nodded understandingly. "Of course, Mr. Bates. Shall I ask Mrs. Patmore to keep your dinner warm?"

"No, that's all right. I'm not hungry." He wouldn't be able to stomach another mouthful. Without glancing back, he stepped into the cool August air.

Making his way to his usual stack of crates, he threw down his cane and slumped his body forward, head in his hands. More war. More death and destruction. More lives changed forever while other men played God.

Not fifteen minutes later, he heard the back door creak open again. Light footsteps crossed the flagstones. He knew that gait anywhere.

True enough, her voice rang out, high and clear. "Mr. Bates, are you all right?"

He smiled despite himself. She was like a balm over his weary limbs.

"I'm all right," he confirmed, just as she reached him. "You should go back inside."

"Budge up," she replied staunchly, and he had to smile. Always so stubborn. But he did as she'd asked, giving her room to squeeze onto the crate beside him. Silence reigned for a few minutes before she turned towards him.

"I don't want to be intrusive," she said. "But if you ever want to talk about anything…anything at all, then know I'm here for you. It doesn't matter what it is. I'm happy to share your burdens."

Like a married couple. His lips twisted sardonically, but he was overwhelmed by a fierce rush of love. She was perfect. How had she fallen in love with him? Why did she _still _love him? She should have been with a nice young man, not pinning an impossible future on him.

The thought curdled his stomach. No. No, she shouldn't. It was wrong to admit it, but he couldn't bear the thought of watching her face glow because of someone else, seeing her hold his hand, watching them get married, meet their children and have the knowledge that they had been created in the most intimate act between man and wife. No, he couldn't bear it if she met someone else.

_War changes things. War changes_ everything.

"Mr. Molesley's coming up tomorrow," Anna said, breaking the silence that had settled over them once more. "And Mrs. Bird. Mrs. Hughes thought it might be nice to have one night where everyone was together before people started signing up for the war effort."

John forced his tone to stay neutral. "Oh? Who told you that?"

"Mr. Molesley did."

"Sought you out, did he?"

She shot him a quizzical glance, but he kept his gaze straight ahead.

"Yes," she answered. "Just before he left. He said he didn't have time to find Mrs. Hughes or Mr. Carson."

A likely story. Mr. Molesley was already making his move, mere hours after being told that Anna was already taken.

_But she's not taken. He has every right._

Another more thrilling thought followed that quickly.

_At least, she's not taken _yet.

His heart was a bird in the bone cage of his ribs. He had only felt this level of sickening emotion once in his life, right before he entered a battle under the African sun, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. The exhilaration of meeting an enemy on the battlefield. The thrill that any moment could be his last. It was like that now, with Mr. Molesley as his rival. He didn't want Anna to love anyone but him. Selfish as it was, he needed her in his life.

_If that's true, then you can't keep[ her at arm's length any longer. You'll lose her eventually if you do. Maybe even to Mr. Molesley._

The thought sickened him to his very core. He couldn't deal with that. Not ever.

There was only one thing he could do under such circumstances. Maybe it would be wrong to. She was a beautiful young woman with her entire life ahead of her. She didn't deserve to be saddled to someone like him, who didn't deserve the worst of her, never mind the best.

But nor could he spend the rest of his life pretending that he felt nothing when she moved on from him, when she was all he would ever want.

_You've got a battle to win, Bates. You've got a _war_ to win._

In that split-second, he made his choice.

Turning his body further towards her, he watched as she tilted her head in confusion, her eyebrows rising.

"Mr. Bates?" she asked. "What is it?"

He shook his head, unable to find any words. The adrenaline pumped faster, flooding his entire body. He reached out with a trembling hand, touching a fallen ringlet of hair before moving his palm to cup her cheek. Her intake of breath was sharp, but she didn't pull away from him. Just continued to stare. He swallowed the lump of fear in his throat before shifting closer to her on the crate.

"Anna," he whispered hoarsely. Her eyelids fluttered in response. Her tongue darted out to nervously moisten her lip.

It sealed his fate.

In the next moment he was kissing her, kissing her fiercely, with everything that he had, as though it was the last time that he ever would.

And, dear God, she was responding, matching him all the way. Her own hand had moved to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. The other rested on his knee. And her mouth was opening beneath him, coaxing him into the warmth. She might have been inexperienced, but there was no fear in Anna Smith.

When he pulled away from her, panting for breath, she followed him, resting her forehead against his chin, squeezing him tight. The adrenaline was still coursing through every fibre of him, and he shivered, the tremor transferring to her. In the immediate aftermath, she raised her head, her eyes still confused but her voice anything but. She uttered only one word, but it was enough to make him laugh freely and kiss her again before she could say anything else smart.

"_Finally."_

People would look down on them, on him – his marriage was still a huge shadow that blotted out the sun – but, holding Anna in his arms, John found it difficult to remember how something so right could ever be wrong.

* * *

><p><em>1915<em>

John's palms were drenched with sweat as he stood outside the flower shop, staring at the elaborate displays. With Valentine's Day almost upon him, he was determined to do something nice for Anna. It couldn't be much – no one else at the house knew about the shift in their relationship – but he wanted to give her something to show her his affection for her. He knew she wouldn't mind how small the gesture was. To her, just knowing was enough.

He'd travelled further than Downton village to buy the flowers, aware that his presence with them would set the place aflame with speculation, but even here he was nervous. Even if he knew that she would love whatever he brought her, he was more cynical of himself. It had been years since he'd last made any sort of romantic gesture. He'd certainly never made one to anyone who he felt as deeply for as Anna. The last thing he wanted to do was mess up spectacularly.

But he steeled himself anyway, entering the shop. The perfumed aroma of flowers hung heavy in the air, a little too overwhelming for his tastes. Still, he breathed deeply, venturing in further to wait behind several other men who were busy picking flowers for their loved ones. Many women would be receiving nothing this year, their husbands and sweethearts overseas. It was a sobering thought.

John waited patiently in line until it was his turn. Then, chewing on his lip, he chose a small collection of roses, yellow, orange, and red, to symbolise the friendship and love that he felt for her. He couldn't choose anything elaborate because he would struggle to smuggle it into Downton undetected, but he knew she would appreciate it nonetheless. After paying, he left the shop, feeling pleased with himself.

Anna cast him a curious look at dinner, evidently intrigued by the smile that he seemed unable to keep off his face, but he only smiled wider at her, giving her hand a quick squeeze under the table. She returned it enthusiastically, ignoring the conversations around her in favour of staring at him.

"What's got into you?" she muttered, his smile obviously infectious as she threw him one of her own.

"You'll see soon enough," he reassured her. "Tonight, when everyone else has gone to bed."

"Sounds mysterious," she said, but her eyes were sparkling with excitement. She was still a child when it came to surprises. He hoped it was a trait that she would never grow out of.

Their respective jobs kept them apart for the rest of the evening, but he knew that she would be there later when he slipped back downstairs. For years they had stayed up past everyone else, just to share conversation without everyone else butting in. It was easily his favourite time of the day, for even if he was tired she was enough to raise his spirits.

He fingered the soft rose petals nervously as he waited for her to arrive, two steaming cups of tea in front of him. He felt painfully shy, suddenly.

At last he heard her soft footsteps, and she appeared before him in her nightgown, wrapped in her shawl. She took his breath away. Beautiful wasn't even the word. She was a goddess. An angel.

"So, Mr. Bates," she said without preamble, skipping towards him. "Are you going to tell me what all this is about?"

"Soon," he promised. "First, I think I need to kiss you. It's been far too long."

"I won't argue with you there."

He grinned at her response, rising to his feet and taking her into his arms. He tried not to focus on the fact that only a few flimsy pieces of cloth separated them, focusing instead on the slope of her neck, the softness of her lips as they played over his, kissing him breathless. When at last they parted, he fought to find his breath. She giggled at him, tucking a loose strand of hair self-consciously behind her ear. Her eyes fell to the table.

"Oh!" she trilled. "Tea! That's perfect."

"Anything for you, milady," he said, and swelled with satisfaction as her cheeks flooded with red.

"Silly beggar," she murmured, taking her seat.

Those words seemed to her affectionate endearment. He couldn't say that he minded in the slightest. Taking his seat too, he turned it so that it was facing her. She raised an eyebrow at him, obviously interested.

"Mr. Bates?" she said. "What is it?"

He cleared his throat, fumbling for her fingers. "I just wanted to tell you how happy you've made me these last few months."

She opened her mouth, evidently about to interrupt with her own affirmations, but he shushed her gently, continuing.

"I have no right to be this happy. I've made grievous mistakes in my past. My current situation is far from ideal. But you have stuck by me through everything so far. Your faith in me gives me more hope than I could possibly convey. I just want you to know that I appreciate it so much. And I love you, Anna. More than anything."

Her eyes filled with tears in the half-darkness. He wondered if he'd said the wrong thing. But she reached out with a trembling hand to caress his face, fingers smoothing over his cheek.

"Oh, Mr. Bates," she whispered. "I love you too. So much."

She began to lean forward to claim his mouth with her own, but he stopped her gently, unable to resist teasing her. "Anna, I thought we'd come to an agreement about when we were alone."

She made a little whining sound in the back of her throat, but he held firm, lips hovering centimetres from hers. At last she conceded defeat, drawing closer, her fingers tangling in the short hair at the nape of his neck.

"I love you," she said again. "John."

The sound of his Christian name falling from her lips was the sweetest syllable in the world, like a word spoken in a foreign language. It sounded so _right_, despite the fact that she'd only used it once before in the months that they had been secretly walking out. He found it incredibly endearing that she still referred to him as Mr. Bates, even when they were alone, but it gave him an altogether different thrill when she spoke his true name. It was even more intimate.

He rewarded her with the kiss that she'd been desiring, his lips moving leisurely over hers. She matched him all the way, sometimes yielding, sometimes taking charge. Every kiss was almost unfathomable to him. Perfect in every way.

At last he pulled away from her, leaving her with a last staccato kiss to placate her little huff of frustration.

"I have something for you," he said.

"You shouldn't have. We agreed that we wouldn't."

"So you're saying that you didn't break the rules too?"

"Well…" She flushed a little at that, giggling. "Maybe. But it was only something small."

"_Mine's _only something small. I hope you won't be disappointed in it."

"I won't," she said at once. "I could never be disappointed in you."

God, this woman was perfect. Slowly, he grasped onto the flowers, bringing them shyly to the table top. Anna gasped, bringing her hands to her mouth.

"I know it's not much," he told her. "I will never be able to afford fine jewels or silk gowns –"

Anna reached out, pressing her index finger against his lips. "You bought it for me. That makes it more precious than any jewel. Thank you. They're _beautiful_."

"The yellow rose is for our friendship. You were the only person who was kind to me when I first arrived here. You were the only one who took time out of your day to speak to me, to share little jokes and stories. I will always treasure your friendship. And now our love is stronger because of it. That's what the red roses are for. And the orange is for desire. A mixture of the two."

"I gathered that," she teased, then sobered. "Friendship, desire, and passion. Nothing could be better than that."

She brought the flowers up to her nose to sniff, then leant forward to wrap her arms around his neck. He slid his around her waist, resting his head in the crook of her shoulder, kissing her ear clumsily.

He couldn't wed her anytime soon, he wasn't going to deceive himself about that. But he could still show her everything that lay in his heart, everything that beat just for her.

* * *

><p><em>1916<em>

John squeezed Anna's hand as he led the way down the long street. Anna almost skipped at the side of him, the basket she had over her other arm swinging wildly. It was rare for any of them to be granted any time off anymore, with the war raging around them, and people seemed especially nervous about visiting the capital, but Anna had jumped at the chance to go there for the day with John to visit his mother, who had taken a tumble a few days earlier when she'd been trying to hang her curtains back up in her sitting room. John had kept his scoldings light but firm when he'd written back to her, and had insisted that he come to make sure that she really was all right. In turn, she had coyly insisted on him bringing "his charming Anna", since it had been far too long since her last visit, the last few being undertaken by John alone.

There had been a few sneers from Miss O'Brien when news got out that Anna was taking her free day to accompany him, but Mrs. Hughes had authorised it in the first place and had been quick to stamp out any gossip. In truth, most of the staff was supportive of their relationship now that they all knew about it, and John had somehow managed to escape any sort of lecture from the butler and the housekeeper about improper behaviour. It was nice to know that they were trusted enough to conduct themselves with decorum.

As they reached the path that led to his mother's front door, John paused, taking a deep breath. Anna seemed to know what was wrong at once, squeezing his elbow.

"She's all right," she said. "Your mother is strong."

He managed a smile. "I know. I just worry. I've seen her these past months, and she's getting frailer. You might get a shock."

"She'll get better. I know she will."

Anna was probably only trying to make him feel better, but he appreciated it all the same. Affording her one last smile, he knocked on the door. They were waiting for several minutes before his mother made it to the door, pulling it open slowly.

Even though he had seen her only a few weeks before, John's heart plummeted to smash on the floor as he realised that she had deteriorated further in that time. Her face, once round and full of life, was thin, pasty. Her hair had fallen out of its tight bun. Her dark eyes were duller.

But she still managed a smile for him, reaching out to pat his cheek. Her hand was paper dry. "Johnny. I thought you were never coming."

"We set off a little later than we intended to," he said, gesturing for Anna to step inside in front of him.

"Anna, darlin', how are you?" she exclaimed, pulling her into a hug. "It's been far too long."

"It has," Anna agreed, hugging her tight. "Much too long. Here, I made a basket up for you."

"You're too kind. But it's lovely! Jams and marmalades and fruits. You needn't have gone to so much trouble."

"I wanted to."

"You're too sweet, girl. Now, come on through…"

John watched as the two of them walked through the tiny hall to the parlour, Anna practically being frogmarched there by his fearless mother. He took his time hanging up his hat and coat, wanting to give them a little time to catch up, before he followed them through.

Anna was already perched in one of the chairs, hands clasped in her lap as his mother bustled around, lighting the lamps to coax a little more light into the dark room. He'd left his cane by the door and stood with his hands in his pockets, watching as she finally decided that everything was fine and hobbled over to her own seat. She looked at him with those dark Irish eyes.

"Johnny, stop standin' there like a fool and come in. I've just brewed a pot of tea. Bring it over on your way."

John mock-saluted, causing Anna to descend into a fit of giggles, then did as he was bid, crossing the room carefully with the tray in hand. He set it down and busied himself with pouring cups for the two women in his life.

The rest of the morning passed quickly. John revelled in the rapport between his mother and Anna, the way that conversation flowed easily. He knew what his mother thought of her. The daughter in law she should have had. His throat tightened. If only.

They shared a light luncheon, prepared at Anna's insistence, sharing news of Downton and the continued war. John worried about his mother all alone here, but there was nowhere feasible closer that he could move her to, and she was adamant that she would be staying.

"This is my home," she said. "Has been for a long time now, son. Why would I want to move away from it?" There was no arguing with her on the subject.

After they had eaten, his mother announced that she was tired and would like to take a little nap.

"What?" John said as she pushed herself to her feet, pausing for a moment to catch her breath.

"Don't act so surprised, Johnny. I'm gettin' on in years. It's only natural for people my age to want to take a rest. Lord knows we've earned it."

"But –"

"Stop worrying, lad. I'll be back down in an hour or so, right as rain."

"At least let me help you upstairs."

"Nonsense. Stay down here with your lovely lass. That's if I can trust you alone?"

There was a twinkle in her eyes that had not diminished over the years. John felt his face flush crimson. Anna's had turned the same shade.

"Let me help you up," she offered.

"You're just as bad as he is," she said affectionately. "Now leave me be. Tidy the kitchen. It's one of the banes of living alone. I have to do all of the house chores."

John frowned. "Mother, I've said I'll pay someone to –"

"Oh, heavens, here we go again. I'm leaving. Now, remember what I said." With that, his mother ambled out of the room. Her movements were stiff, not at all like the graceful young woman he remembered. He waited until the creaking of the stairs ceased before sighing, heaving himself to his feet.

"Come on," he muttered. "Let's tidy up."

The two of them worked in silence for a while, the pots clanking together in the sink the only sound. John stared out of the window as he worked, onto the back yard. It wasn't a handsome view, other grey, dreary buildings blocking everything else. That only made him feel worse.

He startled when he felt slim, warm arms looping around his waist, a forehead pressed to his back.

"I know you're worried," Anna murmured, voice muffled. "But she'll be all right, you'll see."

John exhaled heavily, turning in her arms so that he could face her. "I've never seen her like this before."

"I'm worried too, John. Your mother is a wonderful woman. But she's tough. The Irish are, aren't they?"

She was trying to tease him to raise his spirits. He dropped a kiss onto her hair, slipping his arms around her waist, deaf to her half-hearted protests about his wet hands. In the end she nestled her head against his chest, letting out a contented sigh. He found himself relaxing too. She had a healing effect on him. It was utterly entrancing.

"You know," Anna said at length, voice dreamy, "getting to know your mum in this way has been wonderful. I was worried the first time, because I know she thinks the world of you –"

"You were worried even though you already knew that she thought you were wonderful?" he interrupted her playfully.

"Yes, but that was before she knew that I was in love with you."

"Believe me, she knew."

"She did?"

"Yes. From the moment you opened your mouth, apparently. Were you really that transparent?"

She pouted. "I didn't think so. I just said I was a friend."

"A female friend who cared enough to investigate further. There's no wonder she knew."

She smacked his chest lightly. "You should be glad that I cared enough. You kept your job because of me."

"Oh, believe me, I'll always be infinitely glad that you helped me keep my job," he growled.

Anna pulled away from him before he could lean in for a kiss, slipping round him to continue washing the pots. "Your mother is an amazing woman to have raised a man like you."

"You'll make me blush," he teased, moving to slip his arms around her waist now, closing her eyes against the scent of his hair. It was all too domestic. They could have been standing in their own kitchen, years married. If only.

"I mean it," she said without looking at him. "And your mother has been so welcoming to me over these last couple of years. I know everyone says it, but I truly have gained another family."

John felt the unexpected lump in his throat. He swallowed hard. "That's a very kind thing to say, Anna. I'm glad that you feel that way. I never wanted you to feel uncomfortable."

"I could never feel uncomfortable, not with you. And not with your mother either. My parents are dead. My sister lives far away. My brothers are at war, and even then we're not close. I had no one when I left for Downton. And then you came into my life. You've reminded me what it's like to be loved and cared for. So thank you for that."

John had started to shift uncomfortably when she mentioned her brothers – just what would they say about their little sister being led astray by an older, married man? – but when she turned in his arms to gaze sincerely at his face, he felt his troubles melting away. She had a knack for that.

"Thank you for letting me join," she breathed.

"Thank you for joining," he somehow retorted between kisses as her hands roved over his shoulders, soaking his shirt to the skin. He couldn't bring himself to care.

Later, when his mother returned from her nap, thankfully looking refreshed, she raised an eyebrow at his still wet shirt. Anna blushed bright pink and giggled.

"Well, Johnny, did you get into a fight with the pots?" his mother asked dryly.

"Something like that, yes." He maintained a straight face, even when the words brought back the image of Anna's wet hands travelling down the front of his shirt in her enthusiasm.

"Men. Utterly useless. Give them anything domestic to do and they flounder like fish out of water."

Anna joined in the teasing then, but John couldn't mind. Settling himself back in his seat with a secret smile, he listened to the two women in his life mock him in turn. Yes, what a truly wonderful family he had.

And, perhaps one day, it could be extended further.


	2. 1917 - 1921

**A/N:** First of all, apologies for not replying to reviews yet. I will get around to it at some point soon, I promise.

Second, thank you to **anna4bates**, who helped me to smooth out one of the years here, and who is always willing to listen to my inane ramblings.

Third, I just wanted to clear up the fact that most of these will be happy years. While it is canon compliant with series four, I didn't just want to focus on the angst. Especially since those years will be posted Valentine's Day.

* * *

><p><em>1917<em>

John waited by the bus stop for Anna's fortnightly visit. The usual mix of apprehension and joy welled up inside him. There was always a part of him that was worried that she would see sense and choose not to come.

But she did not disappoint him again; he caught sight of her by the window near the rear of the bus as it lumbered to a stop. She smiled wide at him through the window, before disappearing. He watched the shadows file through the aisle.

And then she was there, at the opening of the bus. He hurried forward to give her his hand while she descended. She slipped it into his without a moment's hesitation, making her way down the steps. Now she was directly beside him.

"Hello," she said breathlessly. "I've missed you."

"God, I've missed you too," he replied. There was nothing he wanted more than to take her into his arms and kiss her deeply. But the bus was only just pulling off and there were still people around, not to mention his place of employment at his back, and it wasn't possible. Later, he promised himself.

Anna tucked herself further into his side, looking up at him with dancing eyes. "So, what are we going to do this afternoon?"

"I thought we'd do something a little different to normal, if you don't mind."

Her grin only widened. "Not at all. Deviations are exciting. What are your plans?"

"I was thinking of taking you further afield. Pickering."

"Pickering? Are you sure we'll have time?"

He deflated a little at her less than enthusiastic response. "It shouldn't take too long. We'll catch the train. I had a walk down earlier to enquire about the times, and there should be one in the next twenty minutes. We'll catch it if we hurry. Why, would you prefer it if we didn't?"

"Not at all," she was quick to reassure him. "It sounds like a lovely idea. I was just worried that it would eat into the time that we get to spend alone. It's so short already, and I'd hate to see even less of you because I had to share you with a group of other people."

"The train doesn't take long to reach Pickering. It's only a couple of stops. Too far to walk with my leg, I'm afraid."

"Never mind that. We should set off now so we don't miss it."

He nodded, allowing her to drag him along by the hand. It was nice, being able to hold hands in public without getting too many funny, disapproving looks. No one really knew them, no one really cared. Occasionally he'd see someone shooting them a disgusted look, no doubt wondering what a beautiful young girl like Anna was doing with someone as old and useless as him, but Anna always managed to make them seem insignificant with her smiles and the yearning way she looked at him. It didn't matter what anyone else thought. What they shared was true and unbreakable.

As they walked through town, hands clutched tightly, Anna chatted about the things that had happened since she had last seen him. Thomas' continued arrogance. Miss O'Brien's _kindness _towards Mr. Lang. Daisy's constant misery at somehow being found engaged to William. Mr. Carson getting more flustered by the day with the added strains of the war. Hearing those tales made John ache for Downton all over again, and to be back by Anna's side every minute of every day. He couldn't voice his thoughts, however. Anna would only plead for him to come back, and he hated disappointing her.

They reached the tiny train station in ample time to buy tickets and wait on the platform. The train journey was less pleasant, sharing a compartment with two surly men who kept shooting them unreadable looks. John was glad that Anna was sitting by the compartment door with his body in front of her. Thankfully, the journey was soon over, and they were climbing down onto Pickering station.

"So, what's this master plan of yours?" she asked him teasingly as they began to walk towards the entrance.

"Master plan? I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't be coy. I know you. You plan meticulously down to the very end. You must have something up your sleeve."

"What if I said it was a surprise?"

She arched an eyebrow at him. "A surprise?"

"Yes. I don't often get to surprise you."

"Then I suppose I would accept your word, though you are horrible to tell me that. I'll be burning with curiosity all day."

He smirked, squeezing her hand. "Perhaps you should try to persuade it out of me."

Her eyes flashed with promise. "Be careful, Mr. Bates. I just might try that."

They spent a couple of hours strolling round what Pickering had to offer, the castle being a particular highlight for both. Once, covered by the protection of its jutting walls, Anna had pulled him to her, her arms wrapped tight around his neck, its stones hard against his back, her lips hot and full with the promises of the future. John had kissed her back until they were both breathless, their gazes soft and loving.

"_So,"_ she'd murmured, walking her fingers down the front of his jacket, _"was that enough to persuade you?"_

He'd laughed out loud, snugging her closer, peaceful in their mostly-private surroundings. _"Almost. Not quite."_

It wasn't until they walked back into the centre of town, arm in arm, that John broached his idea.

"I thought we might take tea in a hotel," he said. "There's a nice one here that I discovered last week. It's not as grand as some of them, but it's nice all the same."

Anna's eyes shone. "A hotel?"

"You don't think it's too much?"

"Not at all," she said quickly. "I've never been spoiled like that before, that's all."

"Really?"

"My parents owned a farm," she reminded him. "They couldn't very well leave it to look after itself, and even if they could, they wouldn't have been able to afford a hotel with six children under their feet."

Of course. He'd never thought of that. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry? I'm not offended, you silly beggar. I'm flattered you want to take me. And excited."

"Then that's more than enough of an incentive. Come on, it's not far."

The hotel was a quaint old thing, slightly shabby in places but still more well-to-do than anywhere they had eaten before. Anna's eyes were wide as she stared round at the grand decorations, and John stifled a grin in case she thought he was mocking her. In truth, it was utterly endearing.

They were shown to a table by a maître d, who fussed over them even though they weren't quite as grand as some of the other patrons. John insisted on paying, even though Anna protested.

"Really," she said, "I'm quite capable of paying my own way, Mr. Bates. I don't want to bleed you dry. It'll be expensive enough just for you."

"Nonsense. It's my duty to treat you."

"Duty?" She was teasing, but there was a trace of hurt beneath her jovial tone.

He cursed himself for his inept wording. "Well, that's how some men see it. But you must know that it's more than that for me. It's an honour to be able to spend my money on you, to know that you're with me. The only greater honour would be having you for my wife."

The mood darkened for the merest of moments before she was grinning brightly at him. "Quite the speech, Mr. Bates."

"They're not just words, Anna. I mean it."

"I know you do."

This was his moment to bring up what had been bothering him for a few weeks. "But do you?"

She frowned, the lines darkening her face. "I've just said that I do."

"Yes, you said it. But…sometimes I think that you just think that what _I_ say to you are just words. When they're so much more than that."

She stayed quiet now, eyes focused on him, uninterrupting. He was glad about that, afraid that he would have lost his nerve if she had.

"Our situation is as torturous for me as it is for you. Every moment spent away from you is agony. But it has to be like this. Just until everything is settled. And then I will marry you in the next heartbeat, and we can begin our lives together properly."

Slowly, Anna's hand crept across the table, uncaring of their surroundings. He grasped her fingers gratefully.

"I can't shower you with jewels as I would like to, but I have something for you that I hope you'll like."

"Another present? Mr. Bates, you really didn't have to. I do know that you love me. I _do_."

"I want you to look at this every time you feel sad and remember that I do," he continued, ignoring her. He slid his hand into his jacket and withdrew a small box. Anna's intake of breath was sharp. He pushed it towards her. She picked it up in shaking hands. He waited, heart trembling while she prised it open, staring down.

"It's beautiful," she said at long last, and he saw the tears glistening as she found his gaze. "Truly."

"It was my mother's," he explained. "And my mother's mother's before that. It's been passed down through generations, and several families. It's supposed to be inherited by sons, but my grandmother only had daughters, so Mother got it because she was the oldest. She should have passed it on to me to give to…" he swallowed hard, hating to say the name, "Vera, but she refused. Said she wasn't worthy of it. I found it in the attics while I was in London, and I knew I had to bring it for you. Mother would want you to have it. She liked you very much."

Anna swallowed. Her voice wavered when she spoke. "I shall treasure it always. I love you."

"I love you too," he replied quietly, squeezing her hand tighter.

"I'll only wear it on special occasions, though," she decided. "It's too precious to wear all the time. I wouldn't want it to get damaged."

"And I don't think you'd get away with it now," he said, smiling. He felt lighter. Younger. She liked it. "Mrs. Hughes would want to know where you'd got it from and how you'd managed to slip through her rules a second time."

"Perhaps I can wear it round my neck. Just until you come back to me. Then I will always have a little bit of you with me."

Christ, was he going to embarrass himself by crying in front of her? "I'm touched. Thank you, Anna."

"Thank _you_," she responded. "Can I wear it now? Just until I get back to Downton?"

"If you like," he said.

She made to jam it eagerly onto her finger, but he closed his own over her hands, stilling her movements. She cocked a confused eyebrow at him, and he responded with a soft smile.

"It has to be worn in a certain way," he said. "There are four main meanings to how this ring is worn, and you don't want someone to get the wrong impression."

"What are they, then?" Anna's voice was breathy, barely audible above the hum of the rest of the punters. "Tell me."

He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat as he took her right hand in both of his. She gave up the ring easily, eyes riveted to his fingers as he rolled the tiny metal band in his big fingers.

"If you wear it on your right hand with the heart point facing you, it means you're unattached, looking for the right man."

"Certainly not that way," she said, almost before the words had left his mouth. "The men will have to look elsewhere. I've already found the right man."

His smiled widened until his cheeks ached. "You could wear it the other way on this hand, like this."

"And what does that mean?"

"That you're taken. That your heart already belongs to someone."

"I like the sound of that much more."

John nodded, then slid his fingers slowly over to her left hand, cupping it in his right while his left fingers traced long, lazy patterns against her ring finger. "You could wear it here, too."

"On my wedding finger?" Her eyes had half-lidded. Her breathing was heavier. Even though they were in a room filled with other people, it was almost as if they were alone. It could get dangerous. But not here. He composed himself.

"If you wear it with the heart point towards you, it means that you're engaged."

The words hung heavy in the air between them. Anna's eyes stared at him. The gaze was so intense that it seared his skin.

"Then that's how I'll wear it," she said.

The feelings welling up inside him were indescribable. Releasing the breath that he hadn't realised he'd been holding, he slid the ring firmly over her finger. It was snug. A perfect fit. He watched as she tested the new weight on her finger, rubbing her thumb against it as the most beautiful smile he had ever seen lit up her face.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur, and too soon they were waiting at the bus stop for the bus that would take her away from him and back to Downton. It was getting harder and harder each time to say goodbye. He hugged her tighter in the circle of his arms.

Anna seemed to be sharing his sentiment. "I don't want to go."

"I don't want you to," he replied. "Lord knows I don't. But it's for the best. It wouldn't do to have people talking. And I'll see you on your next half day."

"It's so _far_ away."

"Too far. But one day we'll be together every minute. I swear it."

"I believe you," she told him.

In the distance, the choking whirr of an engine could be heard. The bus. John tightened his hold on her. They had about thirty seconds more before she had to leave. Thankfully, the bus stop was deserted, and John took the rare opportunity to kiss her long and hard, hands framing her face, lips insistent. She mirrored him, and he shuddered pleasantly when he felt the warm press of the metal against his cheek.

They broke apart when the sound of the engine wheezed louder, and Anna pulled away to put a respectable distance between them before the bus rounded the corner. When it had sputtered to a halt, John walked her towards the doors and helped her up the steps. She turned to him one more time while the door was grating open, her eyes shining.

"I love you, fiancé," she said.

"I love you too."

She mounted the steps and disappeared inside. He watched her shadow move towards a seat, settle down. She waved once as the bus groaned back into life and moved away. He stood there until it had rounded the corner, already hurrying the following weeks away.

* * *

><p><em>1918<em>

The war had raged on for four long years. It was hard to believe that with a few short words from Lord Grantham that it really was over, that the fighting and the blood spilled over that period would cease.

Having Anna's arms wrapped around his neck for those brief seconds had cemented everything. It had been over too soon for him to savour, but her scent still lingered in his nostrils.

Around them, the rest of the household were getting progressively cheerier as they shared glass of wine after glass of wine. It had been at Lord Grantham's insistence; everyone should be given the time to celebrate the end of a long and difficult war. Even Miss O'Brien and Thomas were less hostile, joining in with the merriments. John had been content to watch the joy lighting up Anna's face as she'd moved around the group, sharing enthusiastic hugs with Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Branson, jovial words with Mr. Carson, smiles with Daisy. She was beautiful.

Still, as was customary, he had to escape after a while. The shouting was giving him the first stirrings of a headache, and while he was glad that everyone was taking so much joy in the news, he was still an old soldier. He was relieved for the families awaiting their loved ones that soon there would be no more deaths. He was pleased for the soldiers that they would be free of their duty. But he wasn't disillusioned. For some, there would be no respite. The men who had watched their friends die on the battlefield, or succumb to vicious infections, would never forget the death and destruction that they had seen. They would come to terms with it in time – at least, he hoped they would – but for now, the peace treaty would leave a bitter taste in their mouths. Because, really, what had they been fighting for?

His knee pulsed dully, almost as if it knew exactly what he was thinking about. He rubbed it ruefully as he took his usual seat on the crates, closing his eyes. The sounds of the celebrations were faint now, carried on the cold breeze. He sat there in the cold, quietly reflecting.

The back door opened with a bang.

He glanced up at once, unable to stop the smile from taking over his features. Anna walked towards him, shivering already in the cold air, arms wrapped tight around herself as though that would help keep her warm.

"You really should stop that disappearing act of yours, Mr. Bates," she said through chattering teeth. "You'll be the death of both of us."

"Well, you didn't have to follow me," he teased, shifting so that she could slip onto the crate beside him.

She pouted, nudging him with her shoulder. "You should be pleased that I came out here to find you."

He slid his arm around her waist, drawing her closer. She came without any resistance. "Oh, believe me, I'm very pleased."

She coloured at his tone of voice, and he smirked, shrugging out of his jacket.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, I can't very well allow my lady to get cold, can I?"

"So you're playing the role of the gallant knight?"

"Well, I'm not sure about that. But here, it'll keep you warmer."

She accepted it then, and he draped it around her shoulders, snugging it tight around her. She sighed, eyes falling closed as she moved to rest her head against him. He draped his arm around her waist, tucking her head under his chin. For several moments, they didn't speak.

Anna was the first to break the silence that had fallen over them, stroking her palm across his middle. "What made you come out here?"

"Just needed some fresh air," he replied casually.

She didn't seem convinced, pushing away from him and gazing into his eyes. He stared back, resisting the urge to pull her closer.

"You don't have to pretend to be strong for me, Mr. Bates," she said. "I know you. Was it the talk of the war?"

How she did know him. He closed his eyes briefly, fighting off the bloody images that wanted to arise. He was startled by her gentle touch on his face, fingers caressing the curve of his cheek.

"Yes," he admitted at last.

"And do you want to talk about it?"

He'd refrained from pouring his heart out to her in the past, not wanting to burden her with his harsh memories. Part of him had been afraid that she wouldn't understand. But she had seen some of the effects of war on the soldiers that had been brought to Downton to convalesce, and she was not a stupid woman.

She appeared to have taken his silence as reluctance. "You know I never mean to pry. You don't have to."

"It's not that," he hurried to explain. It's just…I haven't spoken about any of it in great detail for years. Not even with his lordship."

She nodded solemnly. "Take it slow. I'm not going anywhere."

Her hand in his gave him all the strength that he could possibly have needed. Keeping his eyes on their tightly entwined fingers, he spoke about things that he hadn't breathed to anyone else since the day he had woken up in a makeshift hospital in Africa, completely broken and as helpless as a babe. Anna listened intently, thumb stroking over the back of his hand. He barely felt it, lost in the past. In the stench of the soldiers in the baking African sun. In the blood that had flowed over the battlefields, over his body. In the attack that had cost him the full use of his right leg. He could feel the hot blood spewing over his fingers again as he pressed his hand to his knee. The eye-rolling pain. The snatches of consciousness, the endless darkness. The shame of being transported back home, broken, no longer a man.

"Is that…is that when things started to go wrong with Vera?" she asked hesitantly.

John's throat closed up at the sound of her name. He didn't like it being brought into their sacred place, seeping her poison. But he nodded nonetheless.

"It was when it started to get worse. Things had been rocky before I left for Africa. When I returned…well, what use was I to her then? I couldn't provide, it was torture to even move. I was nothing to her. She started to seek the attentions of other men and half of the time I was too drunk to care."

The words were ash in his mouth. More of his failings, more of his shame, laid out for her to scrutinise at will. She deserved so much more.

But her hand was gentle on his face as she lifted it to hers. Her eyes were soft, warm.

"Her loss is my gain," she said decisively. "I could never be more grateful to her. She might be an awful person…but I should thank her for that."

John knew that Anna was not willing to see Vera in any other light. She had only known her as the bitter, twisted woman who would stop at nothing to get what she wanted. He had experienced her in her youth, knew that he was even more to blame for the way that their marriage had turned out than she was. But he didn't want to upset Anna by contradicting her. And if his relationship with Vera had stayed steady, then he never would have known that his true soulmate was out there. A part of him would have been empty for the rest of his life.

Silence fell between them for a little while longer, their hands twined in John's lap. At last John kissed the side of her head, nudging her away from him.

"Come on," he said. "Let's get you back inside before you freeze to death."

"I'm all right now," she joked. "I have your jacket. _You're _the one who's cold."

"If I admit that, will you stop torturing me? I think my ears are about to drop off."

"Oh, all right. Come on."

Together, they began to cross the courtyard, fingers still linked. As they walked, Anna turned her head to John.

"I appreciate you telling me about the war, you know."

"I felt like it was the right time. I've kept it to myself all these years, but if there was one person who deserved to know the truth of everything, it was you."

"I'm glad. It means a lot to me. Knowing that you've let me in enough to trust me with it."

"I've always trusted you, Anna. It just took me a little longer to find the courage. It must be the limp, slowing the rest of me down too."

Anna giggled at the joke, slowing her pace further. "Well, I'll make sure that I never move too fast for you."

The sound of the backdoor opening again interrupted them.

"Ah, there you are!" said Mrs. Hughes. "I was wondering where you'd got to. Come back inside. It's freezing out here."

They had no choice but to hurry now. But John was very glad that he'd swallowed his fear and opened up to Anna completely. Love and trust, the two most important things in any relationship. He had always trusted Anna, right from the very beginning, but there was something glorious about knowing that a person could know the worst of someone and still regard them the same as they had before.

He hoped that he had made up for his past sins now.

* * *

><p><em>1919<em>

The candles were almost out, flickering feebly, drowning in the shadows that overwhelmed them. The fire was almost out too, sputtering wheezily. Jane had left some logs for it to be rekindled if it became necessary, but John doubted that it would; a lazy heat had settled over both himself and Anna – his _wife_ – and neither of them wanted to move. The hour had grown very late, and once more they were lying on their sides facing each other in a kind of languid stupor. They had just finished making love for the second time in their lives.

John couldn't take his eyes away from her. She was simply entrancing. Her eyelids were growing heavy now, but her grip on his hand was as strong as ever, holding it against her hip. Her hair was even more mussed, for he had been unable to stop himself from running his hands through it over and over again. Silk in his fingers.

"That was amazing," she murmured, thumb stroking against the back of his hand. "_Amazing_."

He swelled hearing the word escaping from her mouth, pleased that he hadn't been a disappointment to her. Though Anna had never experienced it before, it had been years since he had too, and he had been as nervous about letting her down as she had been about displeasing him.

All of their worries had been for nothing. The whole experience had been nothing short of incredible.

"It will get even better," he promised her. "Just as soon as we move into the cottage, when we can spend every night like this."

"I can't wait. And I'm very excited to know that it's going to get better, especially with how wonderful it's been tonight."

He flushed at her tone of voice, but grinned widely, moving forward to kiss her. She accepted it eagerly, pushing her body closer. He stifled a groan. Even now, his body seemed completely attuned to every movement she was making.

John had hated himself for hurting her when he'd first joined their bodies together, but she had borne it bravely. He'd been a little embarrassed by his inability to control himself, but Anna had taken her pleasure earlier while he'd been exploring every inch of her body meticulously, and she hadn't minded in the least. Their second time had been much easier. While Anna had still felt discomfort, they had found an easier rhythm, and he'd taken every care to leave her as satisfied as she had been before. Once the pain dissipated, John knew that it would be a hundred times better. Anna was already responsive and enthusiastic. The disappearance of the pain barrier would only heighten everything for her.

Anna yawned suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. He chuckled lowly, disentangling his hand from hers so that he could swipe his fingers under her eye tenderly.

"Sleep, love," he said. "You're exhausted."

"I wonder why?" she teased. "This is your doing, Mr. Bates."

He blushed boyishly again, but ignored her comment. "We have to be up in just a few hours. Mrs. Hughes will dog your every step if you don't look at least a little alert during the day."

"It's a good thing I love you. Otherwise I would be deeply offended by a comment like that." But she was smiling giddily.

"Whatever I say is always said with your best interests at heart."

"Well, I beg to differ on some occasions. But you're right this time. Today has been exhausting."

"It's the excitement of it all."

She raised her eyebrow again, and he tapped her nose.

"You know what I mean."

"I do. I promise to try and rest now. At least while I still can."

He nodded his approval, snuggling his head in the pillow. "Goodnight, Anna."

But far from echoing the sentiment and closing her eyes, Anna fought her way up so that she was in a sitting position. John's breath caught as the sheets fell from her body to pool around her waist, exposing her pert breasts to the room. He tried not to watch how the cold air was manipulating them, instead focusing on her face.

"What's wrong?" he asked her.

She looked shy suddenly, fingertips tracing over the satin coverlet. "It's probably a silly question."

"Nothing you say could ever be silly," he said reassuringly. "You can ask or tell me anything."

She chewed at her lip for a moment before sighing. "It's just…I've dreamt of this moment for so long. Imagined every single way that it could play out. But there's always one thing that's stayed the same in every variation."

Now he was intrigued. "And what's that?"

"You holding me as I drift off to sleep." She sounded so shy, her eyes not quite meeting his.

His heart leapt and then soared. What a beautiful, beautiful thought. It had occupied his for just as long. It had been one of his greatest dreams, holding Anna while she drifted off to sleep. And now it could truly happen, from now until the last breath left his body. Nothing could be more wonderful after the intimacies that they had shared.

"It is silly, isn't it?"

Her voice brought him back to the present. She was looking at him beseechingly, pink-cheeked. He had to assuage her fears at once.

"Not at all," he said. "I can't think of anything better than that. Truly."

Her eyes shot up, met his. He held her gaze, letting her search for the insincerity that he knew she wouldn't find. At last she smiled, one that lit up her entire face. He forgot how to breathe for a moment.

"How would you like to sleep?" he asked her.

"I've dreamt of it in so many ways," she said honestly. "But I usually sleep on my side. Could you hold me from behind?"

"I would be honoured to."

She nodded and, moving forward to kiss him one more time, she lay on her side once more, fidgeting until she was comfortable, emitting a little sigh when she was. John was glad that she was on her left side, knowing that it wouldn't aggravate his knee by adding extra pressure to it. He revered the smooth, milky skin of her back for a few more seconds before pressing himself up against the length of it. She gave a contented little mewl, no doubt at the feel of his chest hair, and he draped his right arm over her side, pressing his palm against the flat of her stomach. His other arm looped over her head. She reached up quietly and linked her fingers with his, holding their hands together.

"Goodnight," she said, her voice drenched with sleepiness.

He pressed a kiss against her shoulders, the back of her neck. "Goodnight, my darling. Waking up with you will be the most wonderful experience of my life."

"Charmer," she said, and then she said no more. He listened as her breathing evened and then deepened, slow and regular. Her skin shifted against his with every breath she took, and he couldn't resist pressing more light kisses to her skin as he listened, overwhelmed by her. God, how was this possible? How was she his?

Despite his years of insomnia, he could feel sleep creeping up on him too. What an effect she had on him. Soothing him easily to sleep for the first time in years. He settled his head into the crook of her neck, finding that it fit there perfectly. As though it had been fashioned just for this action. She shifted a little, but she didn't awaken. Her skin was like silk against his. It was comforting. But there was the whisper of arousal that went with it, a drowsy kind that let him know that they would be making love again before they left this room. He held her as close as he possibly could and closed his eyes. It had never been like this with Vera, not even at the beginning. They had always slept separately, facing away from each other, a gulf between their bodies. He couldn't even bear the thought of not sleeping with Anna in his arms now that he had discovered what it was like to do so. Heaven.

He was certain that it would never be any different.

* * *

><p><em>1920<em>

John awoke quite suddenly, blinking as the sunlight poured in through the window and hit him square in the face. He groaned, bringing his left hand from around Anna's head to shield his eyes. What time was it?

He was reluctant to move, settling instead for twisting his head on the pillow so that he could strain to see the old clock standing on his bedside cabinet. His eyes widened when he saw the time. Eight thirty. He had never slept that late in his entire life.

_It's not that surprising,_ he thought to himself. _Not after last night._

Last night, the first they had spent in their very own home away from Downton. The first time they had pottered about making tea, the first time they had shared a bed that was truly theirs. Even though he had been out of prison for nearly two weeks, John could still barely comprehend it. He was here, doing such simple, domestic things with his wife. And other things, too.

A lazy grin curled the corners of his mouth unwittingly as he drank in the sight of her back, bare due to the covers being somewhere around their waists. The air was cold, but it obviously wasn't bothering Anna, who slept on regardless. She was snoring a little. It was an adorable sound. He shifted closer, pressed a kiss onto the side of her neck, then began to disentangle himself, careful not to disturb her. After the night they had just shared – he fought another boyish grin – she deserved as much sleep as she could get.

Searching around on the floor, he found his pyjama bottoms and his undershirt, pulling both on. Then he pushed his feet into his slippers, fishing his dressing gown from the modest wardrobe. Anna snored on. He rounded the bed so that he could see her face, smooth and blissful. He draped the covers over her to keep her warm, pressing a ghost of a kiss against her forehead. He had breakfast to make.

Downstairs was even colder, but he didn't mind, closing the kitchen door quietly behind him so that the noise of his movements could be muffled. They had a lot of work ahead of them in the few days that Lord Grantham had granted them, but John didn't mind. He was looking forward to making the cottage a home alongside Anna, the two of them setting it up together. Nothing could spark joy in his heart better.

Though he did have to wonder just how much work they would be getting done when they had the pull of their own private bedroom just up the stairs. If last night was anything to go by, then John was willing to wager most of his earnings that they wouldn't nearly be ready by the time they were to return to work.

He worked contentedly on breakfast. He wouldn't claim to be much of a chef, but he had picked up one or two things over his years. He could manage a simple breakfast.

Just about, in any case. His bacon came out a little charred around the edges and his scrambled eggs were rather runny instead of the fluffy kind that Anna preferred, but he knew she wouldn't say anything. His toast was rather burned too, but he hoped to mask that with some of the jam that Mrs. Patmore had sent down to the cottage with them. He clumsily spread butter across the slices, then smothered them in the sweet condiment. Fresh orange juice and piping tea was added. To finish it off, he plucked a wildflower from the garden and set it on the tray. Perfect.

He moved painfully slowly through the cottage, frowning in concentration, determined not to spill anything. It took him several minutes to make his way back upstairs, but when he stepped into their bedroom again, he found Anna as he'd left her, still sleeping soundly. He set the tray down on the old vanity table, moving to crouch at Anna's side of the bed once more. He was loath to wake her, but he didn't want breakfast to get cold, and he knew that they had a lot of work to get done.

"Anna," he said softly, reaching out to caress her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Anna, love, wake up."

She whimpered something inaudible, moving back from the intrusion. He stifled a grin, following her.

"Anna," he cooed. "Come on."

"Don't want to," she slurred. "Too early. Leave me be if you know what's good for you, Mr. Bates."

He chuckled, before catching her mouth in a kiss. Despite her previous assertions, she seemed eager enough to return it, her hand snaking out from beneath the sheets to press against the back of his neck. When they parted, she opened her eyes.

"I'm awake," she whispered.

"Well, that's good to know for future reference," he teased. "Sleeping Beauty can be woken by a kiss."

She smacked him weakly with the hand that was still out of the covers. "Very funny. What _have_ you woken me for? I'm not a morning person, I warn you."

"I knew that already," he smirked. "You were grumpy at Downton until you'd had at least two cups of tea in the morning. It's not going to scare me off. Anyway, I've brought you breakfast."

Her eyes widened. "Breakfast in bed?"

He nodded. "Thought I'd do something special for today. Our first morning in our own home."

She smiled widely at that, all fatigue seemingly forgotten, struggling to sit up in the bed sheets. "Well, I can't see such efforts going to waste. Bring it over here."

He did as she'd asked, placing the tray over her knees before scrambling back onto the bed beside her. They made a startling contrast, she completely naked, him dressed. He couldn't take his eyes off her as she dug into his offerings, knife and fork clattering against the plate. He slipped his arm around her waist, resting his head against her shoulder. She paused suddenly.

"What are you eating?" she asked him.

"Oh, nothing. I'll get something later. I just wanted to get something for you."

"That's silly. You shouldn't go hungry."

He pressed his lips to her shoulder, muffling his words against her skin. "I won't."

She rolled her eyes, picking up a slice of toast. "Here, at least eat this. You were starved in prison. I need to fatten you up again."

He knew the no-nonsense glint in her eyes and decided not to argue, stretching forward to accept a bite of the toast, scrunching his nose at the burnt taste. Anna giggled, moving to swipe a dob of jam from the corner of his mouth with her thumb.

"What's the matter?" she said. "I thought you were a chef."

"Well, I don't think Mrs. Patmore has anything to worry about," he grimaced, swallowing with great difficulty.

She giggled. "I'm glad. You'd spend all your time chained to the oven and I'd never get to see you again."

"Perhaps you could come and help me. All cooks need an assistant."

"Oh, I could assist you, Mr. Bates," she purred, and then squealed when he engulfed her in his arms, his mouth going to her collar. The cutlery on the tray clattered; the glasses – thankfully empty – fell over. Anna struggled to shove the tray onto her bedside cabinet, but John was too lost to stop his exploration of her neck. In the next moment Anna's own hands were on him, pulling feverishly at his undershirt.

"Get it off," she gasped, and he was happy to oblige, throwing it blindly to the floor. She sank further into the bed sheets, kicking the duvet to the end of the bed, her knees moving either side of his hips, claiming him with the sunlight pouring in through the curtainless windows, in the bright light of day. Breakfast was suddenly the furthest thing from his mind.

His culinary efforts might not have been anything special, but he was certainly receiving a handsome reward.

* * *

><p><em>1921<em>

John smiled to himself as he reclined back, watching Anna flitter around the little grove that they were in, exploring her surroundings. Her innocent excitement was endearing to him. Infectious, almost, even though he was fairly familiar with the Scottish highlands, having visited before. She was making him see it through new eyes.

Their picnic had been a success. He had allowed himself only one cup of the beer that Anna had brought, and had settled for the water that she'd brought along for the rest. Anna herself had been more adventurous, downing a few more. Her freeness was exciting, even if there was nothing they could do where they currently were.

Anna had made her way down to the water's edge, and was staring down into the swirling depths. John couldn't see her face, but he could appreciate the curve of her back. He had the sudden urge to join her.

She turned around when she heard him approaching, and a broad smile made its way across her face.

"Finally," she said. "I was wondering how much longer you were going to sit there. There's so much to explore here, so much wonder."

"Who says I wasn't exploring?" he countered. "I happened to have a very lovely view."

She blushed, obviously catching her meaning, and he slipped his hand into hers.

"But you're right," he finished. "It's a wonderful place."

They stood in silence for a little while, listening to the sound of nature around them. But Anna, never one to be still for long, was the first to move, making her way down the embankment further towards the water's edge.

John blinked. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" she said. She kicked off her shoes, pulled down her stockings. John swallowed. The time to get distracted by her lovely legs was not now.

"Should you really be doing that?" he asked nervously.

"Why not? There's no one else here. Come and join me."

He was always powerless to resist whatever she commanded. He picked his way through the shrubbery towards her, cane sinking into the mud the further he descended. She caught his cane when he came to a rest, encouraging him to loosen his hold.

"Come in with me," she said.

"Are you sure that's wise?"

"I'm not suggesting that we swim naked, Mr. Bates. Just paddling in the shallows."

"I don't think I'd survive seeing you swim naked," he muttered in her ear. "You'd look like some kind of faery."

"Well, I've never know faeries to swim before," she teased. "Now, come on, off with those shoes. Or have you no sense of adventure?"

"I like to think that I have one, Mrs. Bates," he growled. "It's part of the reason why I married you, after all."

She giggled at that, then sank down in front of him to help him undo his shoes. Without his cane to balance him, his movements were clumsy and slow, but Anna made no comment, lovingly helping him to slide off his socks and giving him her support as he rolled up his trouser legs. He felt somewhat awkward, standing in the middle of the countryside in such a state, but it didn't seem to be bothering Anna, so he put it to the back of his mind.

She made the first move towards the water, squealing when she dipped her toes in.

"I take it it's cold?" he asked in amusement, watching her shudder.

"I thought it might be warmer," she pouted.

"Well, we're only in Scotland. Hardly in a warm country like America or Australia."

"You get in first if you're so smug, then."

He swelled at the challenge. "All right, I will."

He regretted it moments later when he plunged down into the freezing current without a pause. For a moment he gasped for air whilst Anna laughed. Thankfully, the stones beneath his feet were smooth, and he found his balance before holding his hand out to Anna.

"Come on," he said. "You can't leave me alone here."

She took his proffered hand, hitching her skirts scandalously so they wouldn't soak in the water, shuddering again as the water lapped at her calves.

"Do you still think this is a good idea?" he teased, feeling the goosebumps erupting over his skin.

She nodded her head defiantly. "You're standing close to me, aren't you?"

"I see, so that was your plan all along. You know, we could have done this on the dry land."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"Where's the fun in falling over and returning to Duneagle soaking to the bone?" he returned. "I'm sure everyone would be appalled."

"It wouldn't make any difference to me. Lady Flintshire's staff already think I'm common."

The atmosphere sobered quite suddenly. Anna stared out at the green vegetation on the other side of the stream, refusing to meet John's eyes. He grasped her hand tighter instead, hoping that it was reassuring for her.

"Anna…they don't make you feel inferior, do they?"

She heaved a long sigh, tilting her head slightly. "Not really. But I do feel a bit daft sometimes."

"Is this because of the first dinner? You shouldn't let it bother you. You were completely charming."

"You have to say that. You're my husband. But I know I sounded foolish."

"You didn't," he said stubbornly. "You were perfect."

She gave him a small smile at that. "It doesn't matter now anyway. Let's leave it to one side."

John wanted to press further, but he was aware of Anna's own stubbornness too. Distracting her would be the most fruitful thing for the moment. He would raise the issue with her later. Now, he stumbled forward a few steps, tugging on her hand. She gave him a proper smile, following him.

"John, what are you doing?" she laughed.

"Let's collect some stones," he said. "You said you wanted to plant a few winter flowers when the weather starts to turn, and they stones would be pretty decorations."

She nodded eagerly. The pride that she took in their tiny patch of grass – it wasn't really worthy of the title of a garden – was utterly adorable. She had spent many an afternoon out there in the summer, humming as she planted her favourite blooms, dirt smudging her face and dress as she worked. John had enjoyed helping her too. The baths she had taken afterwards had been even more enjoyable. The cold winter weather would keep them out of the garden in the coming months, but they still had a little time left to make the most of it.

Together, they started to search for any stones that might be suitable, Anna ordering while John searched, with her dress being more impractical. The water was cold, but he actually relished it on his hands and legs, washing away his insecurities. He took in deep lungfuls of Scottish air. There couldn't be many better things than this, sharing a beautiful lonely landscape with just his wife for company. Seeing the red in her cheeks from the fresh wind made him smile. She was the picture of health now, after so long living under the shadows. This was where she belonged, flourishing under the warm fingers of the sun like a beautiful flower.

Soon, they had a nice collection of rocks, which John promised he would keep safe in his room until they returned to Downton.

"Although I don't know what the other valet will make of it," he joked. "No doubt he'll think I've gone mad."

Anna splashed her way over to him. His breath juddered as she wrapped her arms around him, tilting her head back, eyes half-lidding. "And will it matter to you?"

"Let them think what they like," he growled, snugging her closer.

She didn't even seem to mind that he had his wet hands all over her dress. "Good boy. You're learning."

He chuckled, taking her words lightly. "And do I get a reward?"

Her fingers walked up the front of his shirt slowly while she hummed in the back of her throat. "Well, I'm not sure what I can offer you…"

"I can think of something," he said, dipping his head lower.

A grin curled her lips. "Well, I suppose I could stretch to that."

In the next moment their mouths met, moving together softly. The first kiss they had managed since arriving in Scotland. God, he had missed it. He drew her nearer, coaxed it deeper. Her hands braced against his shoulders. Her hat was in the way. Blindly, he grappled one-handedly with the pin, managing to work it free. Instantaneously, he whipped the hat from her head, throwing it in the general direction of the bank as he cradled her face closer –

The sound of the faint splash broke them apart. Taking a moment to catch their breaths, foreheads pressed together, they soon turned in the direction of the sound. Anna squealed.

"John, that's my hat!"

True enough, the cheerful hat was floating gently on the stream's currents, carrying further and further away. John stared dumbly. Well, that hadn't quite gone according to plan.

"I can't go back to Duneagle without a hat! They'd all wonder what we were doing!"

"What happened to not caring what people thought?" he shot back, but he knew she was right. People were suspicious of them anyway, unused to having married servants around, and no doubt Miss O'Brien would waste no time in twisting the knife in their backs. He set off after the hat, slipping over the smooth rocks.

Thankfully, he managed to reach it before it was washed completely away, and he snatched it up. Water dripped in a constant stream from it. He was no expert, but he had a feeling that she wouldn't be able to wear it on the walk home. It would be far too saturated.

Anna made her way over to him, clutching her skirts higher to avoid the splash of the water. He was glad to see that she was laughing.

"I think it's safe to say that I won't be wearing that home," she said.

"Say it blew off. At least it's half true."

"I'll have to," she said, taking it out of his hands. "At least you gave me a lovely afternoon to compensate."

"You enjoyed yourself?"

She leaned up, pressed another kiss to his mouth. "Yes, I did."

It was the only reassurance he needed.


	3. 1922 - 1926

**A/N:** This chapter does mention the events of series four.

Huge thanks to **harpy101**, who took time out of her busy schedule to give me a hand with 1923, offering invaluable opinions. It means a lot!

* * *

><p><em>1922<em>

Pacing restlessly between the kitchen and the parlour, John checked his pocket watch again in the flickering darkness. Just after eleven. Valentine's Day would be over if Anna didn't get home soon.

That was the curse of service. Things could crop up at any time, preventing them from spending time together. Their time together was already precious. It frustrated him that even on special occasions like this, they could still be kept apart.

The note he had slipped into Anna's pocket earlier that afternoon had been cheeky, a little promise of what was to come. He had seen Anna's smile as she'd read it, and the blood had heated in his veins at her expression. He brought that image to mind now, her eyes tracing the page as she took in his words.

_Dear Mrs. Bates,_

_I know you are married, but I am desperate to meet you. Come by your cottage after dark. Your husband will be out._

_I await our meeting eagerly,_

_Your loving admirer._

Anna had sent him an exasperated look at that, but he'd only grinned, knowing that she was secretly enjoying the game that they were playing.

Unfortunately, he had not factored Lady Mary's state of mind into their romantic evening. It was inevitable, really, that the young woman would be feeling even more forlorn and angry on the most romantic holiday of the year, her husband dead and she alone. But he felt it unfair that she was punishing Anna – however inadvertently – for enjoying the happiness that she had within her hands. Anna would never complain about the fact, and John would never voice his vexations to her in case he irritated her for being selfish, but he had rather hoped for a different outcome to this.

An hour later, he heard the front door creak open. By now, he was sitting forlornly on the old sofa, book clasped within his hands but still unread. He heard her rustling about in the hallway, removing her coat and hat. Her footsteps creaked along the floorboards. Her shadow fell into the room before her, but he heard her weary groan as she crossed the room to take her place beside him. She squeezed herself on beside him, pressing her head against his chest.

"I thought tonight was never going to end," she said.

"So did I," John sighed.

"I missed you this evening. Having you beside me while I work is one of life's greatest pleasures."

His heart bounced in his chest at her words, and he smiled. "Well, at least you're here now. A fact I can be very grateful for. I've got you a gift."

She rolled her eyes at that. "Why am I not surprised?"

"It's Valentine's Day," he argued. "It's the perfect day to treat you on. Are we going to have the same argument every year?"

"Probably," he giggled. "But I have to admit, I'm very curious as to what you've bought me. I've got something for you too. Wait there while I fetch it."

He nodded, and she bounded out of the room. He heard her banging about upstairs before she returned, clutching at two packages. John raised his eyebrow.

"Intriguing," he said. "Which shall I have first?"

She handed him one wordlessly, and he peeled back the rough brown paper that she had wrapped it in. A smooth, hard book fell onto his lap. The most romantic love poems of the last three centuries, according to the spine.

"Do you like it?" she asked him nervously.

"I love it." All of his favourite poets were included in the collection. "We'll read it together."

"Will you use it as a means to seduce me?" she teased.

"Experience tells me that you won't need much seducing," he retorted lightly, smirking at her indignant expression.

"What a horrible thing to say to your wife, Mr. Bates. I've a good mind not to give you this." But she couldn't resist for more than a few seconds, dropping the second package into his lap. It was bulkier than the last one, bigger. Curious, he opened it. A handsome binder fell out.

"Open it," Anna encouraged.

Obeying her at once, John was embarrassed as he felt the burn of tears behind his eyes.

He recognised the handwriting, and without even having to read the words he knew what they said. Meticulously ordered over more than a year. They were the letters he had received during his long incarceration. He had been keeping them in a bundle. Now Anna had preserved them properly for him. Entranced, he sifted through them, the pages rustling beneath his fingers. He caught the odd word without really reading them. Her constant and firm declarations of love. Her belief that one day he would be free. A few of the racier ones, written in a hand so small that they were barely readable. But each word was etched on his heart.

He looked up to find Anna chewing her lip.

"I don't know what to say," he said hoarsely. "It's beautiful. Truly."

She slid back onto the sofa with him, and he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her fiercely to his side. God, his wife was perfect.

"Do you want your present now?" he asked.

She nodded eagerly.

"I should warn you, it's not nearly as thoughtful as yours."

"That doesn't matter to me."

He nodded, then withdrew the slim box. Anna took it in her hands and prised it open. She gasped.

"Oh, John!"

She'd been staring longingly at that particular chain every time they passed the little jewellers in Ripon. He'd had to buy it for her. The royal blue would complement her eyes beautifully. They were shining now as they looked upon him.

"I couldn't have asked for anything better. Put it on, please?"

He acquiesced, his large fingers clumsy on the clasp. At last it hung around her neck, looking out of place against her work's uniform. She rubbed her thumb across the stone, then sighed.

"As wonderful as these last twenty minutes have been, it's not exactly the way I envisaged spending Valentine's Day."

"Me either," John admitted. "I did have other plans, other ways that I was going to give you that."

She pushed away from him at that, frowning quizzically. "What kind of plans?"

"The kind that meant you were pampered."

Her eyes twinkled. "I like the sound of that."

"Yes." It was too late to execute their plans. "Dinner, a dance, a long hot soak, and then to bed." Perhaps they could save them for tomorrow. A kind of belated Valentine's celebration.

"A dance?" Her tone was laced with amusement. "Mr. Bates, I thought you couldn't dance?"

He shifted, feeling slightly ashamed, though he knew that hadn't been her intention in the slightest. "Well, perhaps not a dance. More like a sway."

She always knew how to make him feel better. "The best kind. I would need you to hold me very close."

"As close as I could. But it's a little too late to put our plans into action. Valentine's Day is already over."

She wilted at that. "I'm sorry."

"Why? It's not your fault."

"But it was our time."

He kissed her hair. "It's not the end of the world. You're here with me now. That's the best end to a day I could ask for."

"You old romantic." Anna heaved herself up off the sofa, stretching out her limbs.

John watched her movements in the darkness. Lithe. Beautiful. "Are you saying you don't like it?"

She flashed him a grin over her shoulder. "I'm saying I love it. Now, my secret admirer seems to have changed his mind about coming here, but I suppose I can be very content with my loving husband."

"He probably took one look at me and went running," said John, straight-faced. "Big, tall…"

"Handsome," she finished, reaching up to loop her arms around his neck. She kissed him, then pulled back. "Very handsome."

He caught her hips, pulled her closer. The darkness was a lover's blanket. He kissed her again. It was longer this time, slow. Sleepy, almost.

She broke away at last. Her gaze burned, but it wasn't with fatigue, as it had been earlier.

"Come on, Mr. Bates," she murmured. "I think it's time for bed."

He caught her hand, allowed her to pull him up the stairs behind her.

His plans for the evening hadn't exactly gone smoothly, but they would keep.

Her fingers fumbled against the buttons on his shirt, her mouth finding his in the darkness.

Well, at least some of it was working out just fine.

* * *

><p><em>1923<em>

A year. It had been more than a year.

And now she stood before him, hands twisting together like writhing snakes, harsh white marks on her lip from where she was teething it, her eyes wavering as she looked at him. The words that had just escaped her mouth were part wonderful, part the most terrifying he had ever heard in his life.

"_I…I want to be close to you again."_

And he didn't know what to say. Stood there numbly. What if she wasn't really ready for this? What if she was pushing herself too soon? He couldn't bear it if she sent herself into a panic just to try to please him. He had already told her he would wait as long as he had to. He would never touch her again if that was what she wanted. He was just thankful every day that she was still by his side when he had failed her in the worst possible way.

She seemed to sense his disquiet, tentatively reaching forward to take his hand in hers. "I know I'm ready. What happened…it will never go away. We should face that now. Sometimes I'll wake in the middle of the night, terrified that it might happen again. Sometimes I'll relive it and withdraw for a while. But that will start to happen further and further apart. It already _is _beginning to be like that. So much of my life was stolen away. I won't let him do it any longer. Because I love you, and I want to be able to show you that I do."

"You do show me," he countered in a strangled whisper. "I don't need that to know."

He saw the comprehension dawn on her face. "You're frightened."

Turning away, he strode to the window, hands tugging at his hair. "Wouldn't you be if you were in my position?"

"I know my own mind, John. I've known it all too well over this last year. You have to trust me."

He could feel himself shaking. His voice came out sharper than he'd intended. "It's got nothing to do with trust."

There was a moment of heavy silence. Then the rustle of clothing. John squeezed his eyes closed, resting his forehead against the cool glass, blotting out the sound.

"Look at me, John."

He didn't turn.

"John."

Her tone was forceful. He had no choice but to obey.

His breath died in his lungs.

She'd taken off her nightgown. It was pooled by her feet. Her undergarments were in a pile with it. He could only stare.

Her skin glowed milky in the silvery moonlight. Shadows teased her body. She had filled out nicely in the months since she'd moved back into the cottage. Her ribs were no longer a faint line under her skin, a bony path he could walk his fingers over. She looked awkward, standing there with nothing on, but he knew why she was doing it. He hadn't seen her naked since the week during the attack. She wanted him to see her vulnerable, to know that she wanted to at least try.

Slowly, she reached out for him.

"It's time to leave the past in the past," she said.

In the next moment her hands were worrying the buttons on his nightshirt, opening them enough for her to slip her hand inside. He tensed as her palm splayed over his heart, resisting the urge to pull away. Her lips hit his chin, then his cheek. He didn't know what to do with his hands.

And then she was kissing him. Gentle brushes. Her tongue swiped against his lower lip. He should have pushed her away, but he was weak. She stepped closer, and he groaned as her bare breast brushed against the skin of his chest, through the gap in his nightshirt.

"Bed, John," she murmured between soft kisses. "Get on the bed. Please."

He was powerless to stop her guiding him there, falling back into their bed sheets. She clambered up over him, resumed her kissing. He still didn't know what to do with his hands, keeping them pressed firmly against the mattress. Her hands were fire on him. Burning.

"Touch me," she commanded fiercely. "I'm not going to shatter under your hands. _Touch me_."

He was shaking so much he could barely do as she bid, but he yielded. Ran his hands up her sides, ghosting a breast, careful to keep his touch light so that he didn't overwhelm and frighten her. She made a long, high sound, pushing into his touch. Her hair was falling, brushing against his chest as it tumbled like a golden waterfall over her shoulders. She kissed him again, harder, teeth nipping at his bottom lip in a way that he'd missed for so long. He moved his hands back to her hips, fingers dancing and gliding along the soft slopes. Words fell out of his mouth, unstoppable, and he was barely aware of what he was saying above the pounding blood that hummed in his ear drums.

"_I love you, never stopped, you are perfect, my life, my Anna, I love you."_

Seemingly every word was lost between them as she continued to steal his breath away, bodies shifting, perspiration building. There was a terse moment that threatened to engulf him when she pulled down the clothing on his lower half with trembling fingers. The oxygen refused to filter into his lungs when she stared down at him, uncovered for the very first time. What was she thinking? Was she remembering _him_? He did not dare move one tense muscle.

And then she found his hands on her hips, forcing them back onto the bed, pinning him by the wrists as she lowered and sank.

Stars exploded. His breathing hitched. For a delirious moment he thought he would never find it again, that he would die in her arms there and then. Dimly, as though hearing it from far away, he heard her cry out. His first instinct was pain. She was hurt again.

But no. One heart-stopping glance at her face told him otherwise.

Happiness. Pleasure. Raw, unadulterated.

Their rhythm was unlike anything he'd experienced before. An odd mix of clumsy and slow pulses. He wanted to touch her again – now that the dam had been broken, he could never make up for the time that had been lost – but she kept his hands pinned to the sheets above his head, her grip tight. Almost as if she was afraid to let go. She hunkered further over him, moved her head so that it was buried in the crook of her neck. And she choked words between her gasps.

"_My love. My world. My everything."_

He turned his head, pressing his lips to her ear, the only part of her that he could reach. Squeezed his eyes tightly shut, concentrating on her weight as the floodgates opened. He wept into her neck even as the feelings overtook him, and he felt wetness against his own shoulder, her tears scalding his skin. He tried to disentangle a hand from her grip. She squeezed tighter.

"Let me," he choked. "Please, let me."

For a moment, he wondered if she'd heard him, but then she did as he'd asked, trusting him with her body. More tears fell, and he traced his hand along her, a path that had almost been forgotten.

He touched her low.

Her cries echoed in the sanctuary of their bedroom.

Afterwards, they lay together under their sheets. For the first time, John was fiercely glad that Anna had asked if they could switch sleeping positions. Now, facing away from her, she couldn't see the silent tears that continued to pour down his face.

But he was unable to keep the tension out of his muscles, and he knew that she'd detected it as she shifted, her slim arm tightening around his waist, her face pressing between his shoulder blades. Sticky traces of her drying tears branded his skin.

"John?" she murmured thickly. "Are you all right?"

He couldn't tell her the truth. Not now. Not ever. She had enough to cope with. "I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine."

"Well, I am." It came out as a snap, and he winced, softening his tone. "Perhaps just a little overwhelmed."

He felt her shift behind him, felt her rise. But she didn't move closer. "You're sure?"

"Completely sure. Everything is wonderful." His lips twisted bitterly.

"All right," Anna didn't sound as if she believed him, but she settled back down. He raised her hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to the back of it, suddenly very sorry for the way he had spoken. She didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve _any_ of it. She pressed her head between his shoulder blades again, breasts pushed tight to him. Did she really feel comfortable lying with him naked?

It was too late to question her, for her breathing had deepened already, blowing against his back like the touch of a ghost's sad fingers. He let go of her hand gently. It fell to the mattress, limp.

He shouldn't be feeling the way he was. He should be happy. She had wanted to make love with him. It was proof that they were getting back on track, that they could move on together.

Except _he_ wasn't moving on. Every day he saw her getting stronger, but he didn't really _believe _it. He was terrified that something new would come along to make her withdraw from him, that would destroy them once and for all. And he wouldn't be able to stop her. Because he was a weak, weak man. Pathetic. Useless. He had failed her, and he would continue to fail her, no matter how hard he tried. How much more could they endure before their spines snapped in two?

He felt claustrophobic suddenly. He needed to get away.

Carefully, he disentangled himself from her light grip, fumbling for his undershirt and bottoms in the darkness. He dressed himself silently, then padded out of the room. Sleep wouldn't come easy tonight.

For how long he sat there, brooding in silence, he didn't know. Certainly enough for the chill in the air to seep into his bones and attack his aching knee with dull malice. It wasn't until he felt Anna's light touch on his shoulder that he stirred.

"Did I startle you?" she apologised. "I thought you'd heard me coming. I was making enough noise."

He barely registered anything when he was lost in the darkest recesses of his mind. "You should be in bed."

"So should you," she countered. "It's bleedin' freezing down here. You haven't even lit a fire for yourself. Come back upstairs with me."

He looked at her properly then, shuddering lightly when he did. She'd draped a gown over her naked body, but it was only knotted very loosely at the front. A generous amount of her chest was on show. She never would have done that even a month ago.

"John," she said. "Please."

He moved then, heaving himself to his feet with difficulty, traipsing after her back to the bedroom. She threw the gown off, clambered back into bed. John contemplated keeping his own clothes on for a moment, before deciding against it; Anna would probably feel less vulnerable if they were on equal terms. He slid back into bed too, settling back down.

But Anna didn't seem prepared to let his listlessness go this time. Leaning over him, she rested her chin on his arm, peering down into his face.

"I wish you'd stop shutting me out," she said.

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the sight of the frown creasing her brow. "You know I have difficulty sleeping at night. It's the old insomnia. A friend I'll have until the end, I'd wager."

"Don't talk like that," she said. "I don't want to think about losing you."

He shifted. He had had those dark thoughts about her so many times over the last year. Soul-destroying thoughts.

"So are you going to tell me what's wrong now?" she asked lightly.

"You're saying I have a choice?"

She left him with the soft imprint of her lips against the curve of his shoulder. "Not really. You shouldn't bottle things up."

Another stab right to his heart. But he swallowed hard and shifted slightly so that he could face her easier. He was glad for the darkness cloaking them, blinding them. There was no way round a difficult admission. Anna would know if it wasn't the truth. She knew him better than he knew himself. She would see straight through a lie.

"It's been a year," he told her in a low voice.

He felt her stiffen behind him. She said nothing.

"I can't stop thinking about it," he admitted. "I see you getting stronger every day, but then when I close my eyes I see how you were. Just after it. And it kills me. I've pulled you back down. Stopped you from rising above it. You told me to stop seeing you as a victim, but sometimes I can't help it. You've had to heal all by yourself and I've been no help at all."

Anna was silent for a long time. He shouldn't have said anything. He shouldn't be burdening her.

"It took me a long time to start to move past it," she said at last. "A very long time. And I've told you, it will never be gone. It's not something that can be erased from history. But don't you dare think that you haven't been any help. I've only come as far as I have because of you."

He wanted to protest.

She shushed him before he could. "It's true. Before you knew, I was a mess. I was terrified of what you'd do, that you'd end up back inside prison. And there was a part of me that thought you wouldn't want me anymore, not with me being soiled."

He did protest then. "How could you ever think that? You are my life."

"I know that now," she said. "But my mind was in a very dark place. And not all men would have stood by me. I was afraid that you'd blame me for it, that you'd either leave or stay in the sham of a marriage and pursue other women instead."

Turning fully now, he brushed her away so that he could sit up properly, hands finding her face in the darkness. "You stood by me through everything without once wavering. You deserved nothing less than my full faith in return."

"Your faith is what got me through it. You've never demanded marital rights from me. You've respected my wishes with the sleeping arrangements. You've been patient and loving with me even when I withdrew. I couldn't have asked for more."

"I love you, Anna." He was desperate suddenly, his grip on her tightening. "I'll never stop."

She pressed her forehead to his, eyes flickering over him. "I know. I do."

Their lips met again for a brief, fierce moment, then Anna began to pull away. John started to settle down again, but was stopped by the gentle touch of her fingertips.

"I want to try something different," she whispered. Paused. "No, not different. Something tried and trusted."

He raised a quizzical eyebrow, growing more confused when she slid to the end of the bed and slipped out, padding around to his side.

"Budge up," she said. "I want to sleep on this side tonight."

"Anna?"

Her sigh was shaky, but determination sparked in her eyes. "I won't let things be taken from us any longer. Hold me, John. Just like you used to."

Mouth dry, John did as bade, moving over so that she had room to clamber in beside him, waiting for her to settle before shuffling closer.

"And you're sure?" he asked. "It's not too much too soon?"

"It's been almost a year," she said. "I won't let this be ruined for a moment longer."

Cautiously, he moved his hand to her wait, looping it over her stomach as he had so many times before. He made sure he kept his touch light, space between their bodies. He didn't want to crowd her.

"If you ever want me to let go, say so," he said. "I won't have you feeling uncomfortable."

But she surprised him again, pushing back against him so that her backside curved against his groin and her back was flush to his chest.

"You can do better than that," she told him. "Hold me properly."

He gave up then, tightening his grip on her, burying his head into her sweet smelling hair. This was heaven. This was like coming home after a long, terrible war.

Anna linked the fingers of her right hand with the ones on his left, pulling them down to his mouth to press a soft kiss against.

"Thank you," she murmured. For the second time that night, he listened to her drift off to sleep.

Perhaps she was right on some counts, John thought as he held her in his arms for the first time while drifting to sleep for the first time in over a year. But Anna had her own steel that had seen her through the worst of times, and he was only strong because of her.

They had a long way to go. But this was a start.

* * *

><p><em>1924<em>

The cheerful May sun was deadly. John couldn't remember a day like it. His uniform was saturated with sweat. His forehead shone with it. God, what he would give to strip from the waist up. In Africa, Lord Grantham had always turned a blind eye to his men when the oppressive heat had become too much. All of them, young, lean, and bawdy, had relished those days and their good luck that they had such a fair commander. Lord Grantham had even joined them himself if he thought he could get away with it. John's lips twisted nostalgically. Whatever his flaws, he was still the best of men.

Anna sat beside him as he worked, fingers working clumsily on some of her mending. Her temple was beaded with perspiration. Although her uniform wasn't as thick as his, it was still black, and she seemed to be taking it hard.

Still, she turned to him with a wan smile. "What are you thinking?"

"Just of Africa. Sometimes Lord Grantham would let us take our shirts off. It was a relief. I could do with it now."

Anna's eyes raked over him. "Now that is a sight I would pay to see. Although I fear that I would never get any work done for the rest of the day."

"Why, because you'd be distracted?"

"I might be even more hot and flustered." She'd lowered her voice to a low rumble. "Because I know what else your uniform is hiding."

It had taken a long time for them to claw back any semblance of the life they had had before that terrible night. But they had rebuilt themselves, slowly and surely. Their first teasing had been shy, little quips accompanying their day to day activities. It had taken longer for any of them to take an even remotely licentious turn. And yet they had reached that point once again, where they freely took joy in their marital activities, in their beautiful marriage itself. It was the ultimate revenge.

The look they exchanged was one of heated promise of what their night would consist of. But John cleared his throat, not wanting to agitate them more than was needed on a day like this. Then he stopped short, noticing her properly.

"Anna, are you feeling all right?"

His wife's face was shining with sweat – more than he'd noted before. Her eyes were overly bright. Her hair was damp.

"I'm fine," she sighed. "A little overheated but that's hardly surprising."

She looked more than a little overheated. John furrowed his brows, but he knew how stubborn Anna could be and thought it best not to push it. They worked in silence for a little while longer.

Until John turned to check on her again and realised with growing alarm that all of the colour had leeched out of her skin. She was as white as their kitchen walls.

"Anna?" he prompted, panicked.

She gave no answer, but she swayed on her seat. Her mending had dropped from her lax fingers. She fell forward.

John sprang from his seat, cursing his knee as it flared, managing to catch her before she hit the ground. Her head lolled against his shoulder as he tried to push her back.

"Anna!" he yelped, patting her back. "Oh, God." When she made no response, he turned his head and began to holler for Mrs. Patmore. The cook appeared in the doorway with a scowl, her own face red and her hair frazzled. Her expression soon morphed into one of concern when she saw the position the two of them were in.

"What's happened, Mr. Bates?" she asked.

"I don't know, oh God. I think she's fainted. Can you get me a glass of cold water?"

The cook nodded, disappearing back inside. John managed to claw his way back onto the bench, Anna still slumped by his side. She felt so frail and tiny in his arms.

Mrs. Patmore returned a minute later with the water and Mrs. Hughes in tow.

"What on earth happened?" she exclaimed, keys jangling.

"I don't know," said John helplessly, accepting the water from Mrs. Patmore. He dipped his fingers into it, tracing the water across her forehead. Anna's eyelids fluttered. He did it again, murmuring encouragement. She fidgeted. Her eyes opened.

"Wha'?" she slurred.

John gave a bark of relieved laughter. "Oh, thank God."

"You fainted," Mrs. Hughes told her. "Are you all right?"

She nodded as John held the glass up to her mouth, helping her to drink. When she'd done he placed it on the bench, keeping a secure arm around her.

"I don't know what came over me," said Anna. "And look at that, I've ruined Lady Mary's dress. Oh God, she'll be mortified!"

"Never mind that," said John, sweeping his fingers across her burning forehead.

Anna turned to glare at him, but her eyes were unfocused. "Mr. Bates, let me go. I have to get on."

"Oh no you don't," said Mrs. Hughes. "Anna, you're ill. I will not have you putting yourself in more danger over a dress."

John breathed a sigh of relief, pushing her hair back.

"So what do you expect me to do?" Anna was sullen.

"You will go home. I'll call for Doctor Clarkson to assess you. Miss Baxter will handle Lady Mary for the rest of the day."

"Can I take her?" John asked, but was shot down immediately by the housekeeper's no-nonsense stare.

"Certainly not. You know as well as I do that Lord Grantham will be ringing for you any minute, and I don't think Mr. Barrow will be kind enough to fill in for you. I shall take Anna myself."

"I don't need Doctor Clarkson," Anna argued. "It was just the heat. I can get on."

"Anna, I will not argue with you. Now let her go, Mr. Bates, so we can all get on. I'll look after her, you have my word."

Unable to think of a way to argue with the formidable housekeeper, John gave Anna's hand a final squeeze and chanced pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"I'll see you later," he said softly.

The rest of the day passed torturously slowly. He couldn't concentrate. Twice he dropped Lord Grantham's cufflinks, and he flustered himself when he couldn't remember where he'd placed his employer's tie. Thankfully, his lordship was understanding.

"My dear chap," he said, "we all get a little overwhelmed when our loved ones are concerned. Give Anna my best and I wish her a speedy recovery."

When he found Mrs. Hughes on the stairs later, she gave him a hard look.

"Anna will tell you how she went on," she said unmovingly.

"Please, Mrs. Hughes, I can't wait that long."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Bates. It's for your wife to tell."

"Can't you at least tell me if she's all right? I shall drive myself mad otherwise."

She allowed herself a small smile then. "Yes, she's all right."

It seemed an age before he could make the journey back to the cottage. When he arrived, he was reassured to see that the light was burning in the upstairs bedroom. She was waiting for him.

Climbing the stairs, he pushed open the bedroom door to find Anna staring at herself in front of the mirror, eyes vacant. It was not a sight he was accustomed to.

"Anna?" he said, hurrying to her side, "Anna, what's wrong?"

She blinked slowly, a broad grin overtaking her features when she registered that he was in the room with her. "Hello, love. I've saved the cool water in the bath for you."

John swept his palm across her forehead. It was no longer burning. At least that was one less thing that he had to worry about. "I don't care about the bath. Tell me what happened with Doctor Clarkson."

She tilted her head back, giving him a lazy grin. "Can't it wait until you're more comfortable?"

"No, it can't," he insisted. "I need to know now."

She huffed, but her eyes were dancing. "Very well, then. Doctor Clarkson came here to exam me and he told me some very important news."

"And? What's that?"

She caught his hand, slid it down her body until it came to a rest on her flat stomach. John blinked, his breath shutting off. She couldn't be, could she…? Desperately, he sought out the truth in her eyes. Eyes that were shining with love and joy. It was all the confirmation he needed.

Still, the words that fell out of her mouth were a wonderful accompaniment, solidifying everything. "I'm pregnant, John. We're going to have a baby."

A baby. God. He'd given up the hope of ever having that in his life. A baby for the two of them to dote on. Anna would not be robbed of her role of a mother. Laughing, he swept her up into his arms, uncaring about the deep biting pain in his knee, twirling round with her. Anna giggled, pounding at his shoulder gently, ordering him to put her down before he hurt himself, but he paid her no mind, stopping her words and her giggles with his lips. She kissed him back fiercely, her body pressed to him. Soon, her belly would grow round and would put a barrier between them. She'd start to complain about her aches and pains, how pregnancy had made her less attractive. He knew that she would never look more beautiful.

"I can't believe it," he said hoarsely.

"Well, start," she told him. "Sometime during November we'll become parents. Doctor Clarkson says that he wants to keep a closer eye on me because I'm an older mother, but he doesn't foresee any complications. Today was brought on by a mix of the sun and tiredness. As long as I don't overexert myself it won't happen again."

John barely heard her, aware only of the resounding fact that they were going to be parents. Now wasn't even the time for fear and doubts. He let her back down to the ground gently when his knee started to protest more acutely, and instead moved his hands straight to her stomach. Now that he was feeling it properly, he could feel that it was a little softer than usual, the tiniest bit rounder. And soon it would blossom as the proof of their love grew within her.

"Mrs. Hughes knows," he said at last, remembering the housekeeper's odd behaviour.

Anna nodded. "Yes. She was in the room when Doctor Clarkson examined me. She was under orders to not even breathe a word until I'd had time to tell you."

"Well, she kept her vow admiringly. I was beside myself with worry."

"You don't need to worry any longer. We're both fine."

The words started a warm fire in his heart. He kissed her again. She pushed him back with a cheeky grin.

"Go on, get in the bath. I'll be here waiting when you're done. I believe we have some unfinished business to attend to."

He smirked, shrugging his jacket from his shoulders, pushing down his braces. He made quick work of his tie and collar, then set to work on the buttons on his shirt. Once they were open he flung it to the floor, standing before her as he'd described earlier that day. Anna wet her lips, eyes darkening as her gaze roved over his torso.

"That'll keep me going until you're done in the bath," she said. "And maybe then I'll get to see what's under those trousers."

He chuckled, moving towards the door. "You'll have to wait and see."

Before he left the room, Anna's voice stopped him once more. "Thank you, John."

He swivelled back, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

"Thank you. For the baby."

"I think it was a joint effort."

"Maybe, but thank you all the same."

There was a heaviness underlying her words that peeled and fell away. It was a throwback to everything that they had come through to reach this point, every obstacle that had almost destroyed them. But there was some beauty even in the most hideous of scars. They told of survival, triumph over the darkness. A darkness that had only been defeated because they had worked as a team.

Still, John smiled. He'd been wrong earlier. _This _was the ultimate revenge in the face of what she'd suffered. Now they had all the hope for tomorrow that they would ever need.

* * *

><p><em>1925<em>

It had not been the best start to his day. Anna had been in a mood of tremendous proportions when he had woken – apparently Charlotte had been fussing all night and had refused to settle down. A sleep deprived Anna was not to be trifled with. She'd slammed the pot of tea down on the table so hard that it had come spurting out of the spout, staining the pretty white tablecloth. Anna had glared at him in such a way that he'd almost begun to think that it was his fault. He'd never been gladder to sneak out of the house to work, without a kiss from either wife or daughter.

His day hadn't improved from there. His lordship had sent him off with a list of requirements for a trip that he was taking to London next month, and he had spent the better part of his morning limping around Ripon in search of the items he needed. Then had come an afternoon of mending, the boring task doing nothing to improve his mood. When Louise, Ivy's replacement, had dropped stew all over his lap, his frayed temper had almost snapped. Thankfully, he had managed to control himself, and there had been one upside: Mr. Carson had reluctantly sent him home to clean himself up. He'd also pressed an envelope into his hand, a letter that had arrived in the evening post.

It wasn't often that John received post, but he had an inkling of what it was. His insides tingled with nervous anticipation. But then he wilted, stopping short with a sigh as he turned to contemplate the moon. Anna might not even be interested. If she was still in as bad a temper as she had been that morning, then it would probably be wise to just head up for an early night. Charlotte would have been put to bed long ago. He hated that he missed out on so much of his daughter while he was up at Downton all day, but there was little that could be done about it. They needed the money, and Downton's conditions were excellent all things considered.

Well, perhaps it wouldn't be forever.

John slowed his pace further when the row of cottages came into sight, wanting to delay the possibility of Anna's wrath for a little longer. It was still too soon when he reached his front door, and he fished about in his pocket for his key, bracing himself.

Anna appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, looking wary, as he closed the door behind him. He hung up his hat and rested his cane against the door before shrugging out of his coat. Anna had recovered in that time, staying where she was.

"You're early," she said. Her tone was unreadable.

"Yes, I know. Louise spilled stew in my lap, so Mr. Carson sent me home."

There was an awkward pause for a moment, before Anna began to giggle. Relief flooded through him as she stepped closer.

"How on earth did she manage that?" she asked.

"I'm beggared if I know. She's even clumsier than Daisy was, and that's saying something."

Now she came to a rest in front of him, her eyes wide. Slowly, she reached out to touch his chest. John waited, knowing that she wanted to say something from the way that her throat kept working.

"Look, John," she said at last. "I'm so sorry for this morning."

He broke out into a wide grin. Her words were the only thing he needed to sweep her up into his arms. "It's all right."

"No, it's not. It wasn't your fault that Lottie was fussing, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"I should have offered to go myself. I was being selfish."

"No, you have to get up early to get to work."

"You get up with me every morning."

She smiled slightly at their defending of each other, before nuzzling back into his embrace. "Either way, I am sorry for snapping. It won't happen again."

John knew that it would – even though there arguments were few and far between, it was only natural for them to disagree sometimes – but he pulled her closer and said nothing. Her fingers strayed idly over his buttons, and suddenly her voice was husky.

"You know, you took me by surprise being home so soon. I wouldn't have been in the kitchen if I'd known."

"You wouldn't? Where would you have been, then?"

Her answer came without hesitation. "In bed. Waiting for you."

The images that assaulted his eyes were risqué, and he groaned breathlessly. She caught his mouth for a kiss that was over too soon, then stepped away from him, her fingers straying to the buttons on the front of her dress.

"Would you like me to show you what I had planned?" she questioned.

He nodded eagerly, and with that she took his hand, leading him upstairs.

It was only later, when it was over and they were lying skin to skin in a drowsy afterglow, that John remembered the letter that was sitting snugly in his jacket's inside pocket. Anna's head was resting against his chest, her hair spun silk around him. He couldn't see her face, but he could tell by the cadence of her breathing that she was on the verge of sleep. He was loath to shift her again, but curiosity burned at him. He had to know.

"Anna," he whispered in the darkness. "Anna, love, I have to move."

She made a whining sound in the back of her throat, burrowing closer. His breath stuttered at the fell of her soft, bare breast brushing against his side. He would have to treasure the sensation as much as he could. Soon, Charlotte would be walking, and then there would always be the chance that she would come to them in the night. Their nights of sleeping naked were coming to an end. But he pushed those thoughts away, trying to ease himself from under her. At last, Anna huffed, slapping a palm against his chest.

"John Bates, I am trying to sleep. Stop moving."

"I'm sorry," he said. "But a letter came in the evening post. I forgot to tell you."

Those words seemed to rouse her, and she lifted her head from the pillow. "Is it them?"

"I'm not sure until I open it. Will you let me up now?"

Reluctantly, Anna did as he'd bid, watching him shuffle out of bed and pad over to his discarded clothes. He could feel her eyes boring into his back, and he tried to ignore the twitch of excitement at the thought that she was scrutinising him so thoroughly. He found the envelope and withdrew it. Light flared around him as Anna fiddled with the gas lamp, giving them permission to read. John clambered back into bed beside her, keeping upright, allowing Anna to slip under his arm so that she could rest her head on his chest again.

"Open it," she said.

He nodded, pulling the envelope apart. Prising out the sheet of paper from within, his eyes scanned the writing quickly for the answer as Anna peered at it too. A broad grin erupted across his face as the ball of tension in his stomach diffused.

"They want to buy the house," he said, voice full of awe. "Christ."

Anna snatched it from his hands, as if she couldn't quite believe his words. "Really?"

"Really. They're more than happy with the asking price."

"So that means…?"

Anna's voice trailed off, but John picked up her thread at once.

"Yes," he confirmed. "It means that we can write to the Turners and confirm that we can buy the hotel."

The momentous significance of the moment hovered above their heads. Their fates had been decided. Their dream of owning a hotel with a family of their own could truly be realised. The hotel they had been eyeing for the past few months was perfect, exactly the kind of place that they had always wanted, a place where they could raise their children with the strong sea air. Charlotte would thrive there. They all would.

Anna was already planning ahead. "When would we be expected to move there?"

"In the next few months, I should imagine. As soon as we receive the confirmation that we can buy it, I'll hand my notice in to his lordship. That should give him enough time to find a replacement, and we can get everything together here without having to rush."

She shivered suddenly, tugging him down with her. "It's a scary prospect."

"Very," he agreed. "But we'll be all right. I know we will."

She nodded, wrapping herself around him. "I know. And I can't wait until it's just the three of us, together all day every day."

"Neither can I," he told her. "I feel like I've missed out on too much of seeing Lottie grow. She's usually asleep when I get up and asleep when I return."

It made him feel terrible. His daughter was growing up without a father even though he wasn't absent. His half-days were the biggest blessings he could ask for. Playing and interacting with her, settling her down for a nap, holding her in his arms…they were all things that were a luxury to him. And they shouldn't be.

He missed Anna during the day too. He had become so accustomed to knowing that she was in the house, knowing that he would see her at the servants' hall table, that it had taken quite a while for him to adapt to her not being there. In truth, he still wasn't.

But now he wouldn't have to anymore. They could move away and work as a family, spending all of their time together. He wouldn't miss out on any more of Charlotte's wobbling steps or babbling words. He could truly be a father to her.

Realising that he had been silent for several minutes, John dipped his head to look at Anna's face. Her eyes were closed, her shoulders rising and falling with her even breathing. Sound asleep. He smiled, pressing an awkward kiss to her, settling back down. If Lottie awoke, then he would go to her.

It was the least he could do.

* * *

><p><em>1926<em>

The whoosing sound of the waves filled the air. Some would think they were mad, sitting on a bench along the sea front in the middle of winter. But it was late December now, and it would be their last opportunity before Christmas. While the season wasn't very busy at all – perhaps one or two families visiting their relatives in Scarborough – they would still be too busy to visit the beach. And Lottie had insisted on it – her constant cries of _"Beach, beach, beach!"_ had started to drive them both slowly mad.

John sat with Lottie draped across his knees, holding her close to keep her warm. Her dark curls were blowing wildly in the wind. No matter what Anna tried to do to them, they always grew untameable. But it was oddly endearing too.

She was taking in the landscape with solemn brown eyes, sucking thoughtfully on her thumb as she cuddled closer. John rested his cheek against her hair, breathing in her baby scent. She was a real beauty, which he was eternally grateful for, with the poor girl afflicted with his traits. Anna had delighted in the fact, but he would have preferred to see a mirror image of his wife staring back at him.

He'd thought that perhaps there might have been a chance with their son, but he seemed to be taking after his father in every single way too. John Edward Bates – Jack to distinguish him from his father – had a little shock of dark hair, and though his eyes were still blue, they were a much darker shade than they had been when he was born. Everyone who cooed over him was quick to comment on how he would be the apple of his father's eye. Even from the moment of his birth it had been true; when he had entered this world he had been a burly nine pounds, a fact that had made John wince and Anna quip painfully that he was going to be a big boy just like his father.

Jack had taken them completely by surprise. They had made their peace that they would only ever have one child, so when Anna returned from the doctor's and dazedly announced that she was pregnant again, neither of them had been able to believe it. A surge of fertility in later life, the doctor called it. They privately called it a miracle.

Anna had been adamant that Jack would have his name. She had asserted it right from the moment that she had found out she was pregnant with Charlotte. John had got his own back when she had been born, for he had been charged with choosing Charlotte's middle name – Anna, after her mother. She had grumbled for days about that, but he had countered that if she could call their son John, then he could name their daughter Anna.

They were two perfect children, and they had all adapted so well to life at the seaside in their little hotel. Jack had been born there, Anna finding out that she was pregnant only a couple of weeks before their move. It was truly a new start for everyone.

John revelled in the fact that he could spend so much more time with his family. He worked hard from dawn until dusk, then allowed the night shift to take over from there. The two young men would take it in turns to man it each weekend, when John would take the whole of Sunday off. Anna helped out as much as she could, but when they had two young children it was difficult. He would still see them a hundred times more than he had at Downton. At his morning break, at lunch, when Anna brought them down to see him. The customers were in love with the two darling Bates children, who were as good as gold and cute as buttons. John swelled with pride whenever someone praised them.

Now his nights were free too. He could spend them with Lottie on his lap, reading to her in a soft burr. He could hold his son in his arms – his one fleeting chance of immortality – and rock him to sleep. He could have both at the same time with Anna curled sleeping at his side. His beautiful family.

The move had been good for Anna too. Even though she had moved on since that awful black period, the memories would never truly be gone. Anna still sometimes had nightmares. But she was thriving. They were free of the past's oppressive grip. They had a home that was free of haunting memories. They had a family, the biggest healer of all. They were battle-worn, beaten and bruised. But they were truly happy again, in a place where they could make a fresh start.

Anna shifted beside him, cradling Jack close to her chest. John turned his attention to her, shooting her a soft smile.

"Are you all right?" he asked her.

"Yes. Let's not be too long though. I don't want either of them catching a cold."

He nodded in agreement, shifting Lottie in his arms. "What do you say, love? Are you ready to go back yet?"

"No!" she cried. "No! No!"

John laughed, lifting her into the air before him as she squealed and kicked her legs. Her plump cheeks were red from the brisk wind. Anna was right. They needed to head back soon.

"Well, your daddy thinks it's time to go now," he told her. "What about a story when we get back? About the little piggies?"

She laughed shrilly when he brought her back to his chest, snuggling against him. John closed his eyes, savouring the sensation.

"I think we should go back now anyway," said Anna. "Jack is hungry." She gestured to her chest, where Jack was sucking at the material of her coat with a discontented look upon his face. John chuckled, brushing a finger down his cheek.

"The lad's got a healthy appetite," he said.

"Just like his father," she shot back. "Now come on, let's head back."

John helped her to her feet, before holding Charlotte more securely in his arms. He had left his cane in the hotel because they were only a very short distance away from the sea. He was glad of that now as his knee creaked in protest. Anna would probably want to rub it with some salve tonight. He couldn't help his lecherous grin at the thought.

It faded when he looked at the hotel standing in front of him. Quaint and old, it exuded homeliness. All of the patrons who had visited had left satisfied. This was their new home, the home where they would grow old together, the home where Charlotte and Jack would grow. A kingdom they had built together.

The future they had always wanted.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I'll be going back to my other fanfics now this one is all posted. For those interested, _A Meeting of Fates_ will be updated soon, within the next week. Two at the most.


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